


Keep

by TuppingLiberty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Beta Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Dildos, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Imprisonment, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Magic Stiles, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions Past Rape of Minor Character Offscreen, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Praise Kink, Rimming, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles Wears Skirts Sometimes, The Talk, Versatile Derek Hale, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Versatile Stiles Stilinski, Wall Sex, mating ceremony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-11-14 13:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 48,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18053732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Medieval but more like 'Medieval' a/b/o AU. Author has taken extreme liberties with 'medieval.'In this Omegaverse, alpha/beta/omega dynamics replace gender dynamics. Female alphas can be the head of the manor, for instance, and second born Alphas like Derek have to find their own way in the world since they won't inherit. I've also co-opted some traditionally werewolf things (telling when someone is lying, faster healing) for Alphas.To get revenge on Kate Argent, Derek takes one of the outlying Argent keeps, only to discover yet another of Kate's horrifying misdeeds - keeping the Omega son of the keep locked in the basement.Derek must find a way to save the Omega, defeat Kate, and root out the treachery in his own troops before the worst happens.Rated E for eventual smut, and be forewarned, there will be eventual mpreg. See author notes about updates.





	1. Battle

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently was diagnosed with chronic Lyme Disease, and while I try to fight it off, I'm not making any commitments to a regular posting schedule that I'll then feel bad about breaking. One of my major symptoms is brain fog and I've found, if I try to force myself to write while I have it, what I write will need to be so heavily edited and reformatted that it's not worth it. In general, I write on Sundays and therefore updating then is the best bet, but I make no promises about anything. If irregular updating isn't your cup of tea, I'm sorry, and this probably isn't the fic for you. 
> 
> Re: that brainfog. If you see a major typo or error, please let me know (politely). 
> 
> I also have a story in mind, but I'm not sure how long it will take to tell it. So take that as you will. 
> 
> As I add tags and characters I'll try to warn about them at the head of the chapter.

Derek holds up a finger when Peter walks in, scribbling a last note of instructions to his outriders. Once he’s done, he motions Peter forward, pressing his own seal into the wax. 

“Apology to your Alpha?” Peter inquires, a small knowing smile curling up his lips. 

“I’m not doing anything needing apologies, she’ll soon see that.” Derek passes the note to his squire, Tobie, who will see it to the proper messenger, and finally squares his attention on his uncle. “What news?” 

Peter nods at the water jug, and Derek pours for both of them, deferring to age and experience as Peter settles in across from him in the temporary tent. It could very easily be Peter leading this revenge party, and not himself, and Derek realizes this. He and Peter are in similar situations - both the second Alphas of their line, which means, of course, they won’t inherit any of the Hale lands. The obvious, non-familiacidal way to get that land, then, is parties such as this. 

The previous king had called a halt to this sort of thing, but then again, the current king, and more importantly, the current  _ queen, _ surely wouldn’t object to Derek seeking revenge for offense to an Omega. Derek is just following the duty he owes to chivalry, to protect Omegas above all else. And if he happens to seize vital lands along the border they share with the Vancs, well, it will surely be seen as just rewards. 

Peter had taken Derek under his wing back when Derek had turned five - he’d gone to live with Peter and his Omega, Blythe, in the eastern section of the Hale lands, more than a day’s ride from the manor he’d spent his childhood. He’d known it was coming; after all, his older sister has always been the first born Alpha, so he’d been told from his infancy that he’d provide for the family in other ways. It’s never easy being the second Alpha, but Peter had shown Derek how to be most useful to the Hale family - by becoming a knight. And Derek had taken to knighthood easily. He’d poured himself into combat, tactics, and even the mundane tasks of caring for an army. Talia Hale’s army, led by Peter and Derek. 

Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale lands, master of Beacon Hills, the manor on which Derek had grown up. Talia, whose keen intellect and strategic mind had made her one of the richest Alphas in the whole land, who held the ear of the King. Talia, his mother. 

Talia, who had expressly forbidden him from exacting revenge on Kate Argent. Although, Talia doesn’t know what Kate’s done. Derek is sure he’ll be able to get his mother to see reason.  _ After _ he has the keep, and Kate Argent’s blood adorning his sword. 

“The Argents’ defense is pitiful. My scouts found guards just here, here, and here.” Peter makes marks on the map Derek had drawn himself.

“So when I must explain myself to the king, I can also tell him that I was also simply helping the Argents restructure their defenses. This fief borders the outerlands. What if the Argents fell to the Vancs? They put the whole kingdom of Calis at risk, like this.” 

Peter eyes him with a sly grin. “That’s good, but keep working on it, nephew. Your heart still jumps as you say it.” 

Derek ignores the grin, focusing on the map, wishing not for the first time that he had his uncle and mentor’s ease with deception. “We should push now. I want no fatalities, if possible. Warriors can be retrained easily under a new master. It’s Kate I want.” 

Standing, he drains his water glass and begins the task of checking his equipment for battle. 

 

The battle goes as expected, up until it doesn’t. He’d been expecting to take the normal guards of the keep easily. He’d been  _ hoping _ that Kate’s personal guard would also be willing to lay down their arms. But even as those warriors who wore the plain brown garb of the inhabitants knelt before Derek’s warriors in surrender, a wave of Kate’s loyal troops, those wearing her special green insignia, came at them. Their intent had been clear: none of them would be surrendering, except to death. 

In the middle of fighting, Derek has enough presence of mind to be suspicious. Kate’s soldiers seem to be drawing them into battles, not quick fights, and the more Derek clashes with them, the more he feels like he’s being intentionally distracted. 

The thought creeps into his mind as he fells another soldier that Kate’s gone. She must be. These soldiers must have been left behind to keep him from being able to follow her. Which means Kate knew in advance that he was coming. Which means that someone in his own party must have warned her. 

The realization distracts him for a moment, and the last green-bearing warrior between himself and the keep doors manages to slice into his side, under his armor. The pain turns to rage, which he uses to retaliate, and then there are no more distractions between himself and the inside of the keep. 

“Peter, check the outbuildings,” he calls, though he already knows in his heart that it’s useless. If Kate’s anywhere, she’s in the keep, and he sincerely doubts she’s in there, either. 

With a bloody hand, he pulls open the sturdy keep door - a small part of his mind admires the obvious handiwork in the upkeep of the manor building - leading with his sword, just in case. 

None of Kate’s men attack him. In fact, there’s two single Alphas in brown uniforms protecting the entrance hall, and they kneel and lay down their weapons as soon as they see Derek. He bypasses them for now, taking a correct guess and sweeping to the left room into the great hall of the keep. Beyond a row of empty dining tables, down by the hearth, huddle a small group of servants. 

These - and those that he knows Peter will find in the outbuildings and huts - these are the people Kate’s left alone, defenseless except for a few paltry home guards. Not just Alphas and Betas, but Omegas, too, left behind for Kate’s enemies to destroy. 

His stomach roils against the thought. It’s unconscionable. 

He knows he’s covered in blood - his own and others’ - and he’s sweaty from the battle. His Alpha musk is practically rolling off of him, a fact which he can’t help since he’s not exactly in the mood to go bath in the nearby, surely icy river at the moment. He can tell, though, the moment it hits the Betas and Omegas servants huddling together. He’s fairly sure one towards the back faints. 

For this reason, he tries to keep the anger at Kate out of his voice. “I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “When did Kate leave?” Perhaps he can still catch her. 

The huddled mass shivers, though, and Derek knows in his heart that he’s not going to be leaving this keep until they are properly defended. He opens his mouth to reassure them again, when one Beta servant steps forward. 

The servant straightens his shoulders, and Derek isn’t sure whether the courage is false bravado or not. “Yesterday, sire.” 

“What’s your name, Beta?” 

“Scott,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek decides he likes the boy’s courage. 

“And what is your job?” 

“I’m the housekeep, sire.” 

Derek’s pleased with his answer - the housekeep knows every secret a keep has. He tries to smile, but Scott scowls at his attempt. Still, he pushes on. “Scott, walk with me. I would like to refresh myself in your kitchens.”  _ And interrogate you about my new home. _

“The rest of you- the battle is over. No harm will come to you. You may return to your quarters.” The smile is still unsuccessful, if the other servants’ scared faces are anything to go by, but they all, as a huddle, start to make their way out of the great hall. 

One boy remains, though, and Scott nods at him. “Yes, Isaac?” 

“Will you-” Isaac looks at Scott imploringly, then the floor, then Derek.

_ Already secrets reveal themselves,  _ Derek muses.

Scott gives a brief nod, pressing his lips together tightly. “Isaac, I’d like you to stay awake, in case-” He cuts himself off and turns to Derek. “Is there someone he may coordinate with to best settle your warriors in for the night?” 

“Find Tobie, my squire. She’ll be caring for the big Black in the courtyard, more than likely, but the two of you can see to the crowd.” Derek gives an approving nod at Scott. “That’s a good idea.” 

The praise doesn’t seem to do much to quell Scott’s obvious uneasiness with him, but he gives a nod at Isaac, who scurries away. “Thank you, Alpha. This way.” 

“Please, Master Hale is fine.” 

Scott nods, his mouth a thin line. He doesn’t look at all surprised by the news of Derek’s name, which is further proof that Derek has treachery among his ranks. He adds an investigation to the growing list of tasks he needs to complete. 

As they walk, Derek asks gently probing questions about the keep and its residents, the atmosphere under Kate and at other times. He can tell, though, that whatever Isaac prompted Scott with earlier is still on his mind. Derek is pleased when the Beta finally decides to trust him with the secret. It takes the walk through the entire keep, outside, and across the small walkway to the kitchens before Scott stops Derek with a hand on his arm.

He looks at Derek’s face, judging, before looking down and away. Derek follows his line of sight to the body of one of Kate’s personal soldiers. 

“My warriors will be cleaning up the...mess immediately, once the keep has been totally secured and guard duties set,” Derek reassures, assuming Scott is upset at the sight of blood. “By morning, your people will be able to walk through here.”

He’s surprised when Scott’s eyes flash gold. “I cared not for that villainous bastard.” He spits on the ground, at the feet of the broken body. “I care not for Kate.” 

Derek measures him up, straightening to his full Alpha height. “We agree there, then.” 

“I care not for any of the Alpha-lords,” Scott spits out, before looking regretful for his outburst. “But I have a question for you.” 

Derek arches an eyebrow, crossing his own arms over his chest. “Oh?” 

“Rumors say that the reason you are here is to seek revenge on Kate because she pupped an innocent Omega and refused to do the honorable thing.” 

“The  _ honorable thing _ would have been to not rape the Omega in the first place.” Derek feels his rage rising to the surface once more. “But the rumors are correct. She pupped one of my sister's handmaidens. An honorable Omega from a proud family, ruined.”

Scott gives a little nod, like he has found Derek’s answer satisfactory. His whole manor changes to one of desperation, and he clutches at Derek’s sleeve. “I must ask you a favor, sire.” 

Derek’s brows draw together. “What’s that?” 

“You must- you have to  _ save him.” _ Scott tugs on his arm again. “Come, I must show you. I’ll explain on the way.” 

Derek’s side aches, and so does his stomach, the fuel he burned in battle making itself known. But he can’t turn away from the Beta’s scared determination, and he follows. 


	2. Dungeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott reveals the keep's greatest secret. 
> 
> aka Derek and Stiles meet :)
> 
> Added tags: Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Imprisonment

“Save who?” Derek’s interest is definitely piqued. Uncle Peter is always telling him he has too soft a heart. He thumbs over the pommel of his sword as he keeps pace with Scott. 

“Do you remember the original masters of this keep, before the Argents took it, Master Hale?” 

“I do not,” Derek admits with a frown. 

“This was Stilinski land.” Scott waits for him to show recognition, but Derek is forced to shake his head. 

“The name doesn’t sound familiar.” 

Scott only looks mildly disappointed in him. “The last Master Stilinski was one of the best protectors of our land. He was kind, but firm, or so my mother tells me. I was but four when he died. Ambushed in the forest. The culprits were never found, and a week later, our last King, God rest his soul-” Scott says this as if he’d rather the last king be burning in Hell, “-gave this land to the Argents.” He stares at Derek, as if willing him to connect the web of lies.

Of course, it’s not like Derek needs a reason to be suspicious of Kate Argent. “Kate had him killed.” Scott looks pleased with him now as he continues to lead Scott deeper down the stairs into the keep, as if they’re heading to a dungeon. He’d be suspicious, but there’s no hint of subterfuge coming from Scott’s heart or his scent. “So who am I to save?”

“Stiles- Mieczyslaw, but we all call him Stiles. His mother insisted on the family name, but Master Stilinski called him Stiles from the day he was first born. Or so I’ve been told. We’re of an age, you see. We grew up together.” Scott pulls on Derek’s arm again, stopping him before they enter a door. “Omega Stilinski, Claudia - she was my mother’s best friend. She died in childbirth two years after Stiles was born. His sister, an Alpha, died with her. Two years later, Kate Argent killed his Alpha. Kate knew an Omega would never challenge her for his Alpha’s death, so she allowed Stiles to live. And she ignored this keep, for the most part.”

“She’s spent much of the last few years at court,” Derek confirms. 

“Stiles-” Scott gives a brief little smile. “Stiles will never back down from a challenge. Kate, of course, didn’t know that. So it was all too easy for Stiles to plan Kate’s assassination.” Derek raises his eyebrows at that. Underestimating Omegas is a dangerous practice, especially those looking after their kin. “Unfortunately, one of her guards found out about the poison and-” Scott looks at the door. “And my best friend has been imprisoned down here even since.” 

“How long?” Derek’s hands cross over his chest, partially warding against the damp chill of the underground chambers. 

“He was but ten when his plot was discovered. We are now nineteen.” 

“He’s been in a cage for  _ nine years?” _

“I told you that so you may prepare yourself, Master Hale. But I need more from you than to set him free. I could have done that while you slept, tonight.” Again, that self-assured confidence radiates from Scott. 

Derek wonders if Scott knows he’s being wasted as housekeep, even though he seems extremely competent at the job. He promises himself that when he sorts out exactly what’s going on with the Omega Stiles, he’s going to propose that Scott join his warriors-in-training. “What more?” he asks, instead. 

“If you are to be our new master, please don’t send Stiles away. Find a mate for him among your warriors. Let him stay here. It would kill him to leave the Stilinski lands. And this may be the outer reaches of the kingdom, but even we country folk know what goes on in court. He wouldn’t be  _ safe  _ there.” 

Derek frowns. He shares Scott’s distaste for court, to be sure - but moreso because he hates the imposed laziness and inactivity court produces. He’d rather be training with his warriors. Sleeping under the stars. Hunting for sustenance, not that ridiculous sport the Alphas of court love to participate in. 

Scott’s fingers squeeze into his arm. “Please, you must promise me. He would be miserable, and anyone with Kate’s views of Omegas… he’d never survive. They’d probably beat him to death for his smart mouth alone.” 

Derek takes a deep, measured breath. “You have been a loyal friend, Scott. I promise I will do everything I can to help him. Please, let me see him?” 

Scott looks at him intensely, then nods, opening the door. They descend even farther, the chill clinging to Derek’s clothes now, until they’re finally deposited at the end of a long hallway. Large iron bars cut the end of the hallway off from the rest, giving the boy inside a space about eight foot square to reside in. For  _ nine years. _

The boy in question is sitting on a cot that’s attached to the wall with heavy chains. There’s a large tome open on his lap, and as they approach, he turns the page, his unused hand anything but idle, tapping a rhythmic tattoo on his thigh. 

He’s pale, deathly pale, moles dotting his skin - exposed by the rough sack tunic that’s serving as his only protection against the chill - and thin, though Derek can tell he has some height to him for an Omega, his lanky limbs all folded up as he reads. When he finally hears them, he looks up, his eyes automatically on guard and flinching, as if expecting abuse - physical or mental, Derek's’ not sure. Possibly both. But as Scott’s torch draws nearer Stiles’ face, Derek can make out intelligent whiskey-colored eyes, and unkempt, roughly chopped brown hair. 

Derek takes in the cell - Stiles has the cot, a ratty blanket, a hole in the corner for latrine purposes, and the one book. Derek is genuinely surprised that Stiles hasn’t gone mad down here, but those eyes tell him Stiles is steady as a rock. 

And  _ Derek _ is rocked to his soul at the sight of the Omega. Everything in him wants to drag Stiles, an Omega he doesn’t even know, into his embrace and keep him safe forever. He’s never felt this for another person before, and he doesn’t quite know what to do about it. 

Stiles stands, cautiously, coming to meet Scott at the bars. He slips his hand through, and Scott grasps it, and keeps it held between his - this must be the only way to feed Stiles’ Omega need to be touched and comforted regularly. For his friend, Stiles gives a small smile. That hardens when he looks at Derek, then back at Scott, a silent ‘who is he?’ clear on his face. 

“I’m Derek Hale, the new Master of this keep,” Derek supplies for himself.

Stiles stands straighter, the hand that isn’t clinging to Scott’s gripping at the bars. “Kate Argent is dead?” 

“No.” The way Stiles slumps again, the way his body is immediately hunched and defensive against attacks, kills Derek. “But she is gone for now and forever. And she will be dead, someday, by mine or another Hale’s hand.” The vow seems to revive Stiles a little as Derek turns to Scott. “Do we have no keys?” 

Scott shakes his head. “Kate kept them on her. We had to give him meals through the bars.” 

_ And if the keep had ever been set ablaze, or abandoned, or taken by the Vancs, Stiles would have been left here to die, or worse.  _ Anger wells up inside Derek. 

Stiles’ hand squeezes in Scott’s. “You did your best, my friend.” 

“Stand back, Omega Stilinski,” Derek says softly, using the highest form of respect he can give. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise, and he looks like he’s about to open his mouth in retort, but Scott squeezes his hand one last time before dropping it and stepping back. The move distracts the Omega into silence.

Derek braces his hands on either side of the lock and channels his Alpha strength to break it open. The iron twists in his hands and then pops apart, letting the door swing open wide. The exertion pulls painfully at the wound in his side, and he knows he really must get these clothes off and get the slice cleaned and dressed before he gets an infection. He has accelerated healing as an Alpha, but that doesn’t mean he should tempt fate. 

Stiles’ first step out of the cell is shaky, but then he’s launching into Scott’s arms, engulfing the Beta in a bone-crushing hug even as the scent of Omega tears starts to fill the air. 


	3. Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newly freed, Stiles has a task he must complete.

Derek watches the reunion from a respectful distance, his fingers playing over the pommel of his sword, but he can’t help feeling as shaken as the Beta and Omega look. Even though they’re of a height, Stiles is engulfed by Scott’s arms as he buries his face in the Beta’s neck. The idea that Stiles probably hasn’t been properly scented in _years_ makes Derek’s fists clench. His intention to find Kate Argent and slice right through her wicked heart increases tenfold.

“You’re freezing. I’ll draw you a bath right away,” Scott promises, his voice choked. “And I’ll have Isaac see that your room is properly prepared for you.” He turns to Derek, head down in respect, “And yours, as well, Master Hale.”

Derek has eyes for no one but Stiles, even though he knows he should not be drawn to the way the Omega has one pale shoulder exposed from his tunic slipping down upon hugging Scott. He mentally shakes himself, and meets Scott’s eyes again. “I am in need of some water as well, Scott, but it needn’t be warmed. I know that Stiles would cherish a warm bath more than I.”

Stiles snorts, not leaving Scott’s arms. “Or we could share, unless that offends you.” At Scott and Derek’s scandalized looks, he rolls his eyes. “Not _together,_ obviously.”

Derek brushes over Stiles’ humor, figuring it must be coming from his lack of basic human interaction for nine years. “Can you walk?” he asks softly. Even with the wound in his side, Stiles looks emaciated enough that Derek thinks he could carry him all the way upstairs if need be.

“I’m sure I can,” Stiles answers, with what Derek can tell is false confidence. Still, he keeps his arm around Scott’s waist as they all turn to walk down the hallway.

He’s able to do it, but halfway up the first set of stairs, he winces, leaning against the wall and catching his breath. In the torch light, his cheeks go pink. “I’m- I’m sorry, I tried to keep fit in the cell but-”

His distress is palpable in the air, and both Derek and Scott rush to reassure him. “It’s not your fault.” Derek can’t keep the gruff anger from his voice. “We will work on helping you regain your strength, but for now-” He bites the inside of his cheek just a little as he picks up Stiles’ body, both because his side hurts and because Stiles feels so damn right in his arms, he wants to get down on his knees and praise God for finding the Omega. As he thought, the boy is rail thin, so lightweight in his arms that he feels another wave of anger wash over him. “Starting by feeding you. Make sure a meal is prepared for after Stiles’ bath.”

Scott looks between Derek and Stiles, a small smile of satisfaction lifting his lips. “Yes, sire. I’ll do that right now.” He scampers forward, leaving Stiles’ behind to give Derek instructions to the keep’s bedrooms upstairs.

Derek sets Stiles down as soon they reach the top of the stairs, but he allows Stiles to keep his hand around his waist, like he had with Scott. Derek presumes it’s half out of necessity and half out of being touch-starved.

They both realize the flaw in their plan as soon as they enter the keep’s Omega bedroom, the one that Stiles’ mother would have claimed for herself. Now, though, the entire bedroom smells of Kate, and, when they walk through the adjoining door to the Alpha’s bedroom, they find the same is true there. Derek takes one look at Stiles’ nauseated, almost gray face, and simply lifts Stiles in his arms again. He walks back downstairs to find Scott bustling about.

“New plan. Until the bedrooms have been scrubbed of Kate’s scent, we’ll both be staying in my tent. Scott, coordinate with Tobie to have the tent set up in a safe place in the courtyard, and bring the water and the food there.”

“But that’s- that’s not proper,” Scott protests, though much more meekly than he had before.

“Send an appropriate chaperone, then,” Derek bites out with irritation. With Stiles’ emaciated boy in his arms, he cares not for propriety. Besides, his heart is already opening to a certain truth - that there’s no chance in Hell he’s going to be mating Stiles off to one of his warriors.

Stiles’ tugs on his sleeve to be let down. “There’s no need for a chaperone,” he says with a shake of his head, and his tone is more final here than it had been below. He obviously truly believes he cannot be ruined. “Scott, have you something I may cover myself with against the night chill? And shoes, mayhap?”

As Scott scrambles to find the clothes for which Stiles asked, Derek’s heart races at what Stiles could have meant. Knowing her proclivities, could Kate have included rape as one of the ways she tortured the boy? A fierce sense of protection wells up inside Derek even as Stiles looks over at him, eyes intent.

“Master Hale, before we do anything else, I have something I must do. Something I haven’t been able to do for nine years. I wonder, would you accompany me?”

Like Derek is going to let Stiles out of his sight. “Of course, Omega Stilinksi.”

Stiles laughs, just a little, as Scott helps him into the warmer clothing. He discards the tunic with a look of mild disgust. “Please, I would not be so formal with my rescuer. You may call me Stiles.”

“And I, Derek,” he murmurs, offering his hand for Stiles to take as they walk out into the cold night air.

The courtyard is still bustling with activity, Scott joining Tobie and Isaac in the organization of Derek’s troops. Stiles smiles fondly as he watches Scott work. “Scott’s going to pester your squire for all that she knows, you know.”

“Oh?” Derek’s having a hard time concentrating on Stiles’ words, when the pale skin of his face seems to glow in the light of the full moon.

“He’s always wanted to be a warrior.” Stiles’ smile turns to a frown. “Being my best friend doesn’t exactly win one favors with Kate Argent, though. I suppose people get that way when you try to kill them.”

Derek smirks, appreciating Stiles’ humor. “I was thinking the same thing of Scott, actually. That he would make a good warrior.”

Stiles’ cheeks flush slightly with pleasure, or possibly the exertion of their walk. Just when Derek’s thinking about insisting they turn around, however, Stiles stops, hesitating.

They’re standing at the entrance to a graveyard, and suddenly Stiles’ face is wet with tears. “She didn’t tear them down. As evil as Kate is, I thought she might- in retaliation- she must fear God at least a little.” Stiles stumbles forward, going down on his knees before a large, white headstone, his prayers barely audible.

_Claudia Stilinski_

_Katarzyna Stilinski_

_John Stilinski_

“I’m sorry, I forgot to bring you something, Kata,” Stiles whispers, pressing his fingers to his lips, then pressing them on the cold stone next to his sister’s name.

Derek sits beside him and Stiles doesn’t hesitate, crawling into his arms and soaking his armor with tears. Derek simply holds him close, keeping him warm, helping him feed the touch starvation he surely feels.

When Stiles has quieted, Derek swipes the tears from his cheek, meeting his eyes. “You were wrong, before. Kate may fear God, but she fears me, too, and for good reason. I’ll get you your family’s vengeance, Omega. I swear it.”

Stiles’ fingers clutch at his clothes. “Only if I don’t drive a knife into her black heart, first.” He watches Derek for his reaction, so Derek gives him nothing. “You don’t protest?”

“Everyone has a right to vengeance. It would be fitting for an Omega to end Kate Argent.”

“But?”

Derek smiles at Stiles’ ability to see right through him. “But you won’t stand a chance in your current state.”

“Or ever, since you’re planning on mating me off. Scott told me what he planned to suggest to you.”

Derek leans back on one arm, his hand warm on Stiles’ hip. It pleases him that Stiles hasn’t seemed to tense up in his arms, that Stiles wants to come there naturally. “I could train you.”

“You think my Alpha will allow that?” Stiles scoffs.

“Oh, I do.” Derek lets his lips tip up in what he hopes is a comforting smile. “Because _I_ am the Alpha I’m planning on mating you to. If you’ll have me.”

There’s a look of glorious wonder on Stiles’ face for a split second, before it falls again. Already, Derek hates seeing that look of defeat. “That’s one of the things I wished to discuss with you.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t be mated, to anyone. I’m sorry. It would be nice, _you,_ this.” Stiles gestures wildly between them. “But I can’t.”

Derek’s brows draw together. “Has someone else claimed you?” he asks very gently, his worst fears coming to a head.

Stiles glances back at the headstone, then pushes off Derek’s lap. “I can’t do this here. Please.”

“Of course.” Derek shoots to his feet, holding out his hands to help pull Stiles up.

Stiles’ arms are folded around himself in a hug as they walk back toward the encampment. Still, he attempts small talk, as if he can’t stop talking now that he is able to talk to another human being again for longer than it takes to slide him a meal through the bars. The constant chatter is impossibly endearing, and Derek’s heart aches.

He’s so caught up in Stiles’ narration that he almost misses the twig snapping behind them, and then, as he hears the draw of a sword along metal, all he can think of is protecting Stiles. He turns, drawing his own sword with one hand as he shoves the Omega behind him with the other.

“Your comrades are dead,” Derek snarls at the warrior with Kate’s insignia standing before him. “Surrender, or join them.”

“Interesting, because Mistress Argent told me to tell you something similar.” The warrior grins at him, and there’s something sadistic in the smile, in the way his eyes flick to Stiles behind him.

“Get back, Stiles,” Derek commands quietly, sending up a prayer the Omega listens without bothering to check if he does. Turning his attention back to the soldier, he charges.

It’s obvious Derek has the better of him from the very first moment, but again, instead of surrendering, the soldier just grits his teeth and presses on. Their swords clash, and Derek grunts, bashing into the enemy’s shoulder and whipping around on the momentum to strike him from behind. The man stumbles, screaming as he charges at Derek again. As their swords clang once more, there’s a nasty thunk, and then the enemy slips down to his knees, and falls over.

Behind him, Stiles holds a club - rather, what looks like a branch he’s found that’s the size of a club. His cheeks are flushed with exertion, his chest heaving, and he looks shocked for exactly one moment before he meets Derek’s eyes and grins broadly. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, either from the exercise or the adrenaline, Derek can’t be sure.

It must be the latter, he decides, when Stiles lowers the club and uses it as a cane to lean on. “I mostly imagined the back of his head was Kate’s face.”

A grin quirks at Derek’s lips. “That’s a good method.” He bends to check the breath of the soldier - still alive, which means he can question the man when he wakes up, _if_ he’ll give anything up.

If he will, Peter will be able to get it out of him. If not, well. Peter is the one that taught _him_ how to fight, after all.

As he stands back up and walks toward Stiles, he winces, clutching at his side, realizing he must have opened his wound back up. Immediately, Stiles face turns to a mask of worry.

“You’re injured- but- I didn’t see him get a blow in-” Stiles hurries to his side, batting away Derek’s hands to examine the wound.

“It’s from earlier.”

Stiles’ eyebrows snap together. “Since when, before we’ve met?” At Derek’s nod, Stiles shakes his head. “You should have _said_ something. I wouldn’t have made you walk with me. I wouldn’t have made you lift me up the stairs! By God, Derek, you-”

“If you think I’m leaving you behind, ever, I assure you, you’re mistaken. Come on, my tent must be set up by now.”

After a minute of silence in which he can practically hear Stiles’ anxiety working through him, Derek finally relents. “I will find other accommodations. You needn’t be worried about being assaulted in my tent.”

Stiles gapes at him. “What? No, I- That’s not what I was thinking.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened to you, Stiles. It’s okay.” Derek tries to make his voice as gentle as possible.

“I- I’m confused. What do you mean?”

Gritting his teeth, Derek huffs out a breath. “You said you didn’t need a chaperone, and that you won’t be mated. I assumed that- that Kate, or perhaps she let her soldiers-” Derek can’t finish the sentence, his rage burying him.

Before Stiles can say anything in response, they make it back to the courtyard, which is still bustling, though more men are falling asleep. Derek’s approached at once by Tobie and Peter, which is highly convenient. “Tobie, take Stiles to my tent. Is his bath drawn? And is there food? A broth, perhaps. Something not too heavy.”

Around him, everyone is surprised at this line of questioning, but no one says anything about it - yet. “Yes, Master Hale, everything is ready for Omega Stilinski.” With a small bow at him, Tobie motions to Stiles, who leaves Derek’s side reluctantly. Derek watches him until they pass between tents, out of sight.

“Well, well, nephew. You seem to have claimed more than the keep.”

“Stiles remains unclaimed.” _For now._ “What news? Are guards set? Did anyone find any trace of Kate’s trail?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second. She slipped away, like the fox she is.” Peter rests his hand on his halberd, looking thoughtful. “She seemed to have plenty of time to do so.”

“My thoughts exactly, uncle. We have a traitor in our midst.” He looks beseechingly at Peter. “Can Beacon Hills spare you a few more weeks? I can’t- I don’t think I can do this without you. Find a traitor. Secure the keep. Punish Kate.”

“Wrangle an Omega?” Peter asks, a small smile on his face.

Derek shakes his head. “Stiles doesn’t need wrangling. Nothing should shackle him again.” His brows draw together as he thinks of the small, dark, dank chamber below the keep. “She had him imprisoned for nine years, Uncle. _Nine years._ Stiles deserves his freedom.” He takes a breath, and lets his lips tip up. “And mayhap someone to watch over him while he’s free, to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Peter snorts, slapping Derek on the shoulder as he walks towards his tent, mind focused only on Stiles.


	4. Tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek share some alone time. 
> 
>  
> 
> I told you this definitely isn't a slow burn, right?

Tobie’s standing guard outside his tent, coming to attention as Derek approaches. “All’s well,” she answers automatically. “The Beta housekeep is inside with him, helping.” 

“Thank you. Go find your food, Tobie, and your sleeping space. You’re relieved.” 

Someone - Tobie, or mayhap Isaac or Scott, seems to have rustled up a screen that divides the tub from the rest of tent, but that doesn’t stop Derek from being knocked nearly senseless by the smell of sweet Omega. Gone is the stink of the dungeon; Stiles’ scent seems to take him by the heart, mind, and cock all at once. It’s a strangely heady feeling. 

Scott and Stiles are quietly talking behind the screen, and Derek does his best to ignore it, to give them their privacy, to lose their voices among the water splashing and the happy tilt of Stiles’ laugh. 

Still, Derek’s senses feel overwhelmed, and he does the only thing he can think of and sweeps out of the tent, heading for the icy river he’d rejected before. 

 

When he’s done, his skin stings in the cold, but his head is cleared and he feels more in control. His wound, clean, is healing nicely, already just a pink line on his torso. He pulls his pants on but can’t stand the stink of his shirt, so he shoves it in a ball for the wash. He’s shaking the water out of his hair as he walks back when he hears a sound. Thinking only of ambush, he reaches for the sword he left in the tent and then grits his teeth, balling his fists and raising them, instead. 

Scott raises his hands in self-defense, and Derek relaxes, but only minutely. “All’s well?” he asks, his voice gruff, a muscle still ticking in his jaw. “Stiles?”

Scott crosses his arms over his chest, looking like he’s torn between softening to the Alpha and remaining stern. “Stiles said you’re planning on mating him.” 

“Is that not what you asked me to do?” Annoyed, Derek reaches up to scrub some more at his dripping hair. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t intending on checking out the alpha beforehand.” 

“Oh, and do you find me wanting?” Derek’s tone is sarcastic; he can’t help it. Nothing is going to stand between him and Stiles, let alone this Beta. 

“No,” Scott is forced to admit, his eyes glancing over Derek’s glistening chest, then looking away. “Just- just promise me, you’ll be patient.” 

Derek snorts, which makes Scott’s eyes go wide. “Oh, Beta, you don’t have to warn me. You already told me he tried to poison the last Alpha of this keep. Somehow, I imagine life with Stiles is going to teach me to expect the unexpected.” He deliberately softens his voice. “My younger sister is an Omega. I’ve never lived with her, but visiting my family - I know Omegas that buck the rules. Makes one wonder why the rules exist in the first place.” 

Scott gives him a considering look, then a small nod. “I can take your wash for you, sire.” He holds his hands out for Derek’s clothes. 

Derek gives them up, but sets a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “You’d be a valuable addition to my men, Scott. Intelligent, good organization skills, not so obedient that you won’t blindly follow unjust orders. Someone I would trust, and more importantly, Stiles would trust, as the head of my Omega’s personal guard.” 

It almost makes Derek laugh to see the look of shock on the Beta’s face, but he manages to hold it back, just. 

 

Stiles is piled under Derek’s blankets and furs when he finally gets back to the tent. Quietly, Derek digs for another shirt in his clothes, assuming the Omega is asleep, but when he turns back, the shirt clutched in his fingers, he can see Stiles’ whiskey eyes moving over his torso. 

Silently, Stiles lifts the edge of the blanket, beckoning Derek into the warmth, and Derek freezes. He can tell, despite the low light, that Stiles is completely clothed, possibly even in multiple layers. And Derek knows he has control over himself, even when it comes to this Omega. His Omega, his fated, surely. So Stiles beckons, and Derek comes. 

He slips down into the rough bed - he’s a warrior, after all. Even as a general, he’s not used to luxury. Stiles’ fingers trace over the pink line on the side of his stomach, and then the myriad other scars that cover his skin. 

“I didn’t expect you to join me,” Stiles murmurs, not meeting his eyes. 

“It’s not proper-” 

Stiles snorts derisively. “I’ve been without a chaperone for nine years, Derek. I don’t give a fuck about proper. My reputation was in tatters on day one.” He turns, his back to Derek, and Derek feels lost. But Stiles' voice continues, bitter and hard. “They didn’t rape me. They didn’t have to, to ruin me. To break me. To make sure no Alpha would ever want me.” 

_ I want you, and I’m the only Alpha that matters. _ This is what Derek  _ wants _ to say. Instead, he lays a hand tentatively on Stiles’ hip, and watches with wonder as Stiles melts into the gesture instead of rejecting it. “What do you mean, break you? If you want to tell me.” 

Encouraged by Stiles’ acquiescence, he scoots up behind Stiles, spooning him, clasping their hands together. Stiles still feels so cold against his body, and small, but his skin has been scrubbed to a rosy pink, and his scent is pure Omega.

“I’m broken,” Stiles whispers, so quietly Derek almost has to strain to hear him. “I can’t- I’ll never be a proper mate. I can’t- I haven’t, since- well, ever...I’ve never had a heat. Something's broken in my body, and I can't have heats. I can’t have pups.” 

Derek’s heart quickens in his chest, as Stiles’ scent turns sour, the scent of a distressed Omega. It smells especially awful on Stiles; Stiles should never be upset, ever. “I don’t need pups, Stiles.” 

Stiles scoffs. “What is an Omega for?” 

“Is that what Kate told you?” 

“That’s what they all told me.” The hurt in Stiles’ voice kills Derek. 

“Do you-” Derek chews his lip before continuing, making sure to choose his words delicately. “ Do you remember your Alpha and Omega? Your mother and father? Is that the only reason they were together?” 

Stiles is quiet for a long moment. “They were a love match. Fated. Met each other at a spring fair, and were married the next day. Or so Scott's mother Melissa told me.” 

_ So you don’t really remember them, then. _ “My parents weren’t. Fated, I mean. But love grew there, from respect. My mother doesn’t keep my father around just because he can bear pups. They have a partnership. She seeks his guidance, his opinion.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Meaning I’ve no need for pups, Stiles. The Hale line will carry on in Laura’s children.” Derek thinks of his perfect niece, just a newborn the last time Derek saw her, with a cry worthy of an Alpha warrior already. He smiles, rubbing his cheek against the exposed skin of Stiles’ neck, enjoying the mixture of their scents. “What I need is a mate, my fated mate, by my side.” 

Stiles gasps a little. “You think- you think we’re fated...too?” 

And oh, that little ‘too’ is so sweet, music to Derek’s ears. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Stiles. Anyone. I swear to you. It’s like... everything else in the world pales in comparison to you.” 

“I’ve no experience with this,” Stiles says, his voice helpless, and Derek backs off immediately. Surprising him, Stiles turns around on the bed again, scooting into his arms once more. “I didn’t mean stop.” He thinks for a moment, one side of his mouth quirking up. “I just didn’t mean go, either.” 

With a half-laugh, Derek rubs their foreheads together. “Understood.” 

“I don’t think I’ve felt this warm since- I can’t remember when.” He cuddles in closer, the soft cloth of the bedclothes Scott must have found for him nestling against Derek’s skin. “If you’re not looking for someone to bear your pups… what use would you have for me?” 

Derek reaches for the words to explain. “You- I- this is the most at peace I’ve felt- my whole life. I’ve always been second. Second born, second in importance in Peter’s family, after his own children, second in command of the Hale army. With you, I feel like I might- finally be first in someone’s heart, if you’ll have me.” He blushes. “It’s silly.” 

“It’s not.” Stiles’ fingers scratch through his hair, then draw him down for a brief pressing of lips. Nothing deeper than that, and still, it steals Derek’s breath. After the short, sweet brush, Stiles puts his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me? God, I haven’t cuddled anyone in so long...you feel so good.” 

Derek knows that’s Stiles’ touch starvation talking, but his whole body fills with pride at making his mate happy nonetheless. He pulls the covers up to their chins, even though he’s not cold in the slightest, and wraps Stiles tightly in his arms. “Sleep, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all I have written for now, so from here on out, sporadic updates. Though I'm really feeling these two right now, and as I told a friend, I really want to get to the fucking, so, ... lol


	5. Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' first day of freedom
> 
> (A Stiles POV chapter. Woo!)

Stiles is fighting against waking up. He's so deliciously warm, he's worried he has a fever again, and this might be the one to kill him. He snuggles further into the blankets, Scott must have snuck him some more blankets, he's done so in the past before they'd been confiscated. They like to play games like that with the guards. 

Then the smell of the blankets and the bed, and everything around him, hits him in his gut, and the events of last night come rushing back. With a grunt, he pushes up to a sitting position, ignoring the body aches he's so used to. The tent is empty at the moment, sun pushing through the front flap in a low beam. Oh God,  _ sun. _

Just the thought of seeing it for the first time in years has him scrambling from the bed, but he doesn't want to leave the delicious warmth or that heady Alpha smell behind, so he wraps one of the blankets around his shoulders. 

The time has gone enough that there's no morning dew to lick at Stiles’ bare feet. It's chilly, though. Scott keeps- kept- him regularly updated on the seasons or he would have gone crazy, but there's nothing like feeling it for oneself. And Stiles had always been rather fond of spring. He can smell the blossoms in the air. 

A squat Beta girl guards the entrance to his tent. Stiles reaches to his memory last night, smiling when he comes across the right name. “Squire Tobie.”

Tobie starts, and Stiles realizes he’s pulled her attention away from the sparring going on in one of the lower fields. There's a mix of brown and black to indicate that Derek must already be retraining the Stilinski warriors. 

“Good morning, Omega Stilinski.” Tobie’s face goes bright red. “I mean, Omega Hale.”

“Stiles is fine for now. We're not mated yet, technically.”

Somehow, his words manage to make Tobie blush deeper, but then an authoritative voice to his side declares, “I'll take over from here, squire.”

“Isaac?!” Stiles swiftly turns, then sweeps up his friend into a deep embrace. “It's been too long, friend.” 

“And your new mate would kill me if I let you walk around without shoes. Here.” Isaac pushes slippers at Stiles' chest. “Would you like to break your fast?”

Stiles is already frowning at the obvious disrepair the keep has fallen into. “If I can do it while touring the grounds. My father would be horrified, I'm sure, at the state of this place.” He wants to bustle about the place like he did when he was 10, pretending to be Lord of the manor despite Kate’s rule. Except now, without Kate’s interference, he doesn’t have to pretend. 

Isaac’s brow furrows. “Alpha Hale ordered us to keep you inactive.” 

Anger leaps into Stiles’ heart, twisted with fear. “He wishes to keep me in the tent? Just another prison? Maybe a more comfortable one, maybe it smells better-” he chokes off that line of thought. “But that would be a prison nonetheless.” His heart beats hard in his chest as panic starts to set in. 

That is, until he notices Isaac’s reaction. Isaac looks surprised at Stiles’ anger, his mouth hanging open slightly. Stiles can’t blame him. Mischievous, yes, like his name, but he’d never been an  _ angry _ child. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says automatically, regretting his outburst. He lifts one hand out of the blanket wrapped around him and rubs at his temples. His heart still feels like it’s racing, and he can feel the edges of panic still licking at his system. Despite the long, restful sleep, he suddenly feels very tired. 

“I think he meant- he wants you to rest, is all.” Isaac rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. 

Stiles nods. “I’ll rest, I promise. But I have to see the keep. And I’d like to find time to visit Deaton, if he has time for me.” 

Now Isaac pales. “Are you sick?” He looks as if he’s worried  _ he’ll _ get in trouble if Stiles feels ill, which is ridiculous. 

“Just Omega matters.” He’d heard the excuse a dozen times growing up, and it always seemed to make Alphas and Betas back off. 

Just like that, Isaac’s blush is back something fierce. “I’ll go get your food, and some clothes. Just- just wait here, okay?” 

“Okay, Isaac,” Stiles answers easily, a little smile playing at his lips as Isaac hurries away. He pulls the blanket more over his shoulders and sits down, leaning against the side of the keep’s wall to watch the soldiers practicing in the outer bailey. 

It’s easy to find Derek. He’s not the tallest of his soldiers, but he still has Alpha height over the Betas, and anyway, he’s got  _ presence. _ Stiles feels as if his eyes will now and forever more always be able to find Derek in a crowd first. Considering he’s known the Alpha for less than a day, Stiles has to laugh at himself.  _ Now who’s being ridiculous? _

Still, he can’t help but admire the fine form of his future mate’s body. Dark trousers mold the muscles of his legs - his thighs are especially appealing, Stiles thinks. But it’s the white tunic, clinging to his chest with sweat from the morning’s exertions, that really makes Stiles stare. Even from here, he can see fine, dark curls poking up over the V of the tunic’s neck as Derek shows a soldier the proper stance for his weapon. 

Stiles has spent nine years in prison, his only visitors Kate, her guards, Scott, and sometimes Deaton, if the guards allowed him to be seen during one of the fevers that was easy to catch in a dark, dank dungeon. Reading kept him from going insane, he’s fairly sure, and the daily visits with Scott. He’d never had a heat, but he’d had...urges. And when he’d finally started taking care of them - not that long ago, actually; it’s amazing how long it took him to realize there were parts of his body that could give  _ pleasure _ of all things - he’d never had a concrete picture of his lover in mind. 

He wonders now if his mind had been waiting for Derek to appear. Because Lord, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to imagine his amorphous blob of an Alpha now that he’s seen Derek in high form. Stiles feels warm, inside and out, watching his Alpha -  _ his _ Alpha! - spar with another warrior to show the technique. 

Derek’s hazel eyes drift up the hill to meet his, and Stiles jolts at the feeling there. He frees a hand from the blanket and gives an awkward little wave. God, this would be a lot easier if he hadn’t spent his entire adolescence in a cold, dark cell. 

Derek looks pleasantly satisfied at his presence, watching them. Probably because Stiles is ‘resting’ at the moment. 

And then, if he’s not mistaken, Derek starts showing off, his muscles flexing a little more, his teeth bright in the sunlight as he corrects another soldier. To Stiles, it’s as obvious as a peacock, but so, so endearing. 

“Are you ready, sire?” Isaac’s voice drifts over his shoulder, and when he looks up, Isaac holds out a hand to pull him up. 

“Sire? I’m just Stiles, Isaac.” But Stiles has to remind himself that like the rest of the keep with the exception of Scott and Deaton, Isaac hasn’t seen him since he was a child. It’s probably harder to acknowledge the current ranking Omega of the keep now that he’s an adult. He accepts the hand, and Isaac’s silence on the subject. 

“Your skin is a little pink,” Isaac says instead, brusque as always. 

They return to the tent, Stiles taking the chance to wash his face before he changes clothes and accepts the food Isaac offers. It’s simple, and not too much for Stiles’ stomach. He has a feeling rich foods will evade him for awhile, until he gets used to them again. He takes a bite of the cheese and bread, and links his arm in Isaac’s. “Come, friend, show me what she’s done with the place.” 

“It’s more like what she hasn’t done,” Isaac replies bitterly, and at once Stiles is glad he’s with Isaac and not Scott, who tries to sweeten the truth because he thinks Stiles will feel better that way. 

Stiles blows out a heavy breath. “Let us get started, then.” 

 

Deaton doesn’t hug him. It’s almost a relief after being hugged by Melissa, the baker, and the blacksmith as he toured the grounds. Instead, he makes Stiles sit on the bed as he examines his body, his ears, his mouth, his limbs. 

“And you’ve never once had a heat?” 

Stiles’ eyes fall to the floor in shame as he shakes his head. 

“Do you produce slick?”

Horrified, Stiles feels his face flush and he steadfastly keeps his eyes averted as he squeaks out a “No.” 

Something about the way Deaton nods, professional, sets some of Stiles’ mortification at bay. “It could be a number of things, Stiles. I hate to speculate. If you were at court, the healers there would bleed you, but I just can’t understand how that’s supposed to help.” 

“I would prefer not to be bled, yes.” 

Deaton brushes that aside. “The Alpha that scared Kate so much, are the rumors correct? You two are to mate?” 

“Yes. I mean, I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to Derek today about it, but that’s what his intention was last night.” 

“It would make sense. He can keep the manor for himself, and we’ll object less if you’re involved.” 

Stiles frowns. It seems calculating. Then again, he’d spent much of his childhood calculating on how exactly to get rid of an Alpha, so perhaps he shouldn’t judge. 

“I think we’re fated,” he says, in a mild defense. 

“Oh, that’s nice.” Deaton rustles in his kitchen, then presses a vial of oil into Stiles’ hands. “Listen, Stiles, you must insist that when Alpha Hale mates you, he use this. Without it, and without slick, the pain will be unbearable.” 

Stiles’ fingers close over the vial even as his blush overwhelms his face. 

Deaton frowns at him. “And watch the sun. Your face is red.” 

 

Stiles is feeling a little dazed after the encounter with Deaton, and tired after walking around all day. He’s frustrated by his lack of strength, stamina. And by the way his skin feels tight on him, he’s sure he’s been burnt. He stumbles back to the tent and collapses in the bed, not even bothering to pull the covers over him. The last thing he remembers is sticking his nose fully into where Derek slept last night and letting the pleasing scent of his Alpha lull him to sleep. 

 

Something cool wakes him up, and it feels like bliss. He blinks, realizes he fell asleep face down on the bed, and moves his neck to see what’s happening. This, it turns out, is a mistake, as yes, his nine-years-in-a-cage-pale skin  _ hurts. _

But it’s Derek, kneeling on the edge of the rough sleeping area, rubbing something soothing into the burnt skin on his neck. He makes a shushing sound with his mouth, guiding Stiles gently back into the covers. “Just let me get the rest of your back. Your healer, Deaton, I think his name is? He stopped me, said you might need this.” 

Stiles grunts as Derek’s fingers continue to smooth the cream over his skin. It feels blissfully good, tender. Between Derek’s massage and the heady Alpha scent coming off of him in waves, Stiles feels like he’s about to float away.

“And turn for me.” Even as Derek gives the command, he helps Stiles turn over on the blankets, clucking his tongue at the sight. 

“I promise I’m not weak,” Stiles blurts out as Derek continues to work on the red skin of his collarbone, neck, and face. 

Derek’s fingers stop. “Did someone call you weak?”

The tone makes it seem like Derek’s about to hunt down the culprit and make sure they never say anything like that again,  _ personally. _

“No, I just- I was only out for what, a few hours? And I have to take a nap, and be treated like an infant?” 

“And less than a day ago you were in a cage. Give yourself time, Stiles.” Derek leans over, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead that makes his insides all fluttery. “And give me some time before I have to worry about you running about the place.” Derek adds a little grin at that, making Stiles laugh. 

“Once you’re healed from this-” Derek smooths in the last of the poultice, finishing the job. “-I’ll start training you personally.” 

Stiles moves to sit up, because it seems like a better conversation to have with Derek upright, when his hand slips on the vial of oil from Deaton and he pitches forward into Derek’s lap. With a scramble, he manages to sit up finally, as Derek examines the vial. 

“What’s this?” 

Stiles wars with himself over lying about the purpose, but Derek will be able to tell, and besides, it probably won’t embarrass him. “Deaton gave it to, um, us, I guess. For when we, um…Because I don’t make slick.” Stiles hangs his head, ashamed.  

Derek’s eyes widen, and he smiles a little. “Oh yes, I see.” 

“You do?” Stiles squeaks, surprised. 

“It’s common. Well, I guess I don’t know if it’s common, but I’ve used it before. With, uh- a partner that also didn’t produce slick. An Alpha partner.”  

“You had an Alpha partner?” Stiles is shocked. Sure, he remembers talk of Alpha-Alpha and Omega-Omega pairs when he was a kid, but they weren’t...popular. 

Now Derek looks sheepish. “Two actually. Not at the same time,” he allows with a rush when Stiles’ eyes widen even further. “But...things happen on the battlefield. And-” Derek takes a shaky breath in and out. “And one of them, I realize now, it wasn’t my choice.” 

“Oh.” The small noise sounds stupid in the quiet of the tent. “Are- are you okay?” 

“Mostly. I will be.” Derek looks away from his, as if he’s looking to his past. Suddenly, he snaps back, rolling the vial between his fingers. “So, I’m glad Deaton gave this to you. It will help a lot.” 

“Does that mean you want to- I mean, are we going to-”  _ Just say the words, Stiles!  _ “Are you going to mate me?” 

“When you’ve recovered, yes. If you like. What?” Derek says with a laugh, and Stiles realizes he must be giving him a disappointed face. 

“I just thought- I mean. ‘Fated mates, don’t wait.’ Everyone knows that saying.” Feelings of inadequacy start to rise within Stiles, feeding his anxiety. 

Gently, though his beard is still rough against Stiles’ burnt skin, Derek nuzzles their noses together, then tips Stiles’ head up and takes his lips. 

This isn’t the first time, Stiles remembers. Not their first kiss. Still, it feels even better than the first, and he idly wonders if it will be like that always. Better and better and better. He circles his arm around Derek’s neck and pulls himself closer. When Derek’s hand creeps under his tunic and splays across the skin of his lower back, Stiles moans. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, and damn it, he wants more.

“More?” 

“Did I say that aloud?” 

Stiles and Derek look at each other for two beats before their mouths are claiming each other again. 

When Derek pulls away this time, they’re both panting. “I want to wait until you feel like your body is yours again. I don’t want you to feel weak when I mate you, Stiles. Do you understand?” 

Chewing his lip, Stiles nods. Derek wants him to feel as safe as possible. 

Derek’s lips tip up. “But we can do other things besides mate, you know.” 

“We can?” 

“I can feel you, your cock hard for me. I can smell your arousal. I can help you with that, if you want.” Derek nips at his earlobe, which makes Stiles shiver. 

“Yes, please, Derek.  _ Alpha.” _ Stiles feels like he’s going out of his mind. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine it could be like this with another person. 

“Lay back. Get comfortable.” 

Stiles scrambles to comply as Derek tips some of the oil onto his fingers. His clean hand lifts Stiles’ tunic up, exposing his flat, soft belly. The muscles quiver when Derek smooths over him, making Stiles jump. Derek just shushes him like he might a shying horse, and damn, but it actually works for Stiles. 

“Der,” he moans, as Derek’s oiled fingers dip lower, beneath his waistband, where he’s hard and waiting. The oil feels so much better than his own saliva had, that’s his first thought. His second, third, and fourth thoughts are all about how fucking good Derek’s hand feels surrounding his cock. 

Derek works his earlobe, then the sensitive place below his ear, as he tugs at Stiles’ cock. Stiles is lost in it, in sensation. There’s the pain of his skin, yes, but it’s so overwhelmed by the pleasure Derek is giving him, he’s practically forgotten about the burn. 

“Spill for me, Stiles,” Derek whispers in his ear, and it’s as easy as that. As easy as Derek ordering it so. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut against the best orgasm he’s ever had. He shakes as he spills into Derek’s hand, shudders racking his body with the waves of pleasure. 

When he opens his eyes again, Derek’s licking his fingers, and Stiles has to moan. 

“It’s a lot better with someone else’s hand,” he blurts out, and Derek freezes, then laughs, pulling him up for a kiss. 


	6. Clearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot must continue! Derek receives reports and begins training Stiles. 
> 
> CW: There are more mentions of Kate's past abuse of Derek.

Stiles grumbles when Derek rolls out of bed the next morning, then simply buries himself further in the covers. The move makes Derek smile, brushing his fingertips over the soft brown hair that’s brushing against Stiles’ unfortunately bright red forehead. He’ll have to remember to always have enough blankets available for his Omega. 

He puts the cream Deaton gave him in an obvious place, so hopefully Stiles will remember to apply more. In the meantime, he tucks the oil in the box beside the bed. No need to leave that lying around, after all. 

He dresses quickly, trying not to linger over the scent of Stiles clinging to his skin. He’ll break his fast with Tobie on their way to morning training, so he has no reason to stay in the tent any longer. And yet, he finds himself hesitating by the entrance, and looking back to the Omega sleeping soundly in his blankets and furs. He’s mostly just a lump there, but Derek can’t help how his heart flutters. Though it makes his own cheeks bright with embarrassment, he brushes his fingers over his lips and blows, as if sending the kiss through the air. 

Shaking off the ridiculous gesture, Derek steps out of the tent, not surprised at all to see Tobie waiting there, at the ready. “Reports?” 

Tobie hands him a biscuit stuffed with meats. “Nothing to report as such from the patrols. The housekeep would have a word with you at your convenience. As would your uncle.” 

As Derek chews thoughtfully, he sees both Scott and Peter hovering nearby. After a moment, he goes to the Beta housekeep first, hoping that the conversation will go quickly. “What news, Scott?” 

“I just wanted you to know that the bedrooms have been scrubbed from top to bottom, the mattresses remade, and the rushes replaced with fresh. I directed them to add lavender, too, to help neutralize the scent. Hopefully. You could come check, at some point today, if you’re not too busy?” 

Derek eyes Peter, then looks back at Scott. “I’d like to make it a priority that Stiles sleeps in a nice, soft, warm bed this evening. I’ll drop by, I’m just not sure when. In the meantime, if you had to appoint another housekeep right now, who would you choose?” 

Scott’s face blanches. “Are you- are you letting me go? Have I done something-” 

“No, I’m offering you a promotion, actually. But I’d like the keep to be in good hands before I transfer you to warrior training.” 

“You meant what you said?” The surprise on Scott’s face is evident. 

“You’ll find, Scott, that I always mean what I say, or I don’t say anything at all. Besides, I can’t imagine Stiles being as comfortable with anyone else as his personal guard.” 

“Except you, mayhap,” Scott mutters under his breath. “I’d promote Isaac, and bring in Erica, from the stables, to take Isaac’s old position. She’s smart as a whip.”

Derek nods. “Thank you, Scott, for your advice. It is invaluable to me.” It’s a clear dismissal, and Scott reads it as such, hurrying away to leave Derek alone with his uncle.

“What news? I can’t imagine it’s good when you’re back so early.” 

“We were not able to pursue any trails that led us to Kate.” 

“And the prisoner?” 

“Gave up nothing. She must pay handsomely for such loyalty. He poisoned himself before I could really get started. Found this on him before I incinerated the body.” Peter holds out folded parchment, covered in rust-colored spots of old blood. 

Derek unfolds it, furrowing his brow at the coded message written there. 

“It’s useless without a cipher,” Peter murmurs. 

“Still, I’ll take it. I’ve a little experience with Kate and codes.” He has a flashback, of Kate’s fingers curling around his shoulder as he looks at one of her letters. Kate laughing at him, telling him he’s too stupid to figure it out. That he’d been raised a soldier, not a scholar, and he shouldn’t worry his pretty little head about things beyond him. 

It takes everything not to crush the paper in his hand and instead tuck it carefully in his bag. 

“I can stay for another week, mayhap two. I’ve already received a summons from my sister, but you know how these mountain roads are in the spring. Nigh impassable.” 

His uncle’s words bring him out of his flashback. Peter’s looking at him dubiously and he rushes to cover his silence. “That should be enough time to secure the keep against both the Vancs and Kate’s return, should she seek it. I would appreciate all the time you can give me, Uncle.” 

“As I would like to be able to carry good news to your mother when I see her again.” Peter nods over his shoulder, and Derek turns to see Stiles emerge from the tent, looking fresh for the morning despite the awful burn on his skin. “A happily mated son, perhaps a pup on the way? That could be such good news.” 

Derek’s cheeks darken. “Stiles is still recovering,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, well. You know how warriors talk.” 

“Who’s saying what?” Derek demands sharply, his eyes flashing back to Peter’s. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger, nephew.” Peter raises his hands defensively. “Just, you know. How Stiles was chained up without a chaperone for nine years, at the whim of an Alpha who has a known past with Omegas. And how he now occupies your tent, yet still no claiming bite lays on his neck.” 

“I expect that if you hear such scandalous talk, you’ll put a stop to it at once, Uncle.” 

“Oh yes, of course I will.” Peter gives him a sly little grin. “But you know as well as I that the talk superiors catch is only a small percentage of what our underlings are actually saying.” 

Derek frowns as he watches Stiles greet Isaac. “I don’t care. Squash it when you hear it. Stiles will get the time he needs to recover, regardless of what people are saying. Besides, by the end of the day, we’ll more than likely be back in the keep, where Stiles may have a bedroom all his own.” 

“You know as well as I that the damage is already done, nephew. But I’ll do my best.” 

As if his flashback to Kate hadn’t put him in a foul mood, the news about Stiles’ reputation - so unfair and undeserved on the part of the Omega - sinks Derek even deeper. Scowling, he strides away from his uncle without even saying goodbye, and heads down to the lower bailey to yell his warriors into submission. 

 

Stiles’ hand trembles in his as they walk past the stairs that would lead down to the dungeon. Instead, they head up, to the bed chambers. Though Stiles feels a little stronger than he did a few days ago, he still requires Derek's help up the keep stairs.   


“I thought your opinion valuable on the matter. I felt like her scent was gone, but I wanted you to have a say as well,” Derek murmurs, his bad mood from earlier lifted the moment he’d felt Stiles’ skin in his palm. 

Quietly, they walk through the connected chambers, Omega first, then Alpha. They’re sparsely decorated, but Scott has assured him that weavers are working on new, Kate-odor free tapestries even as they tour the fresh chambers. New furniture is being put together as well; the occupants of the manor seemingly happy to deem the cause worthy of quick work. 

Once they’ve toured the entire set of rooms, Stiles relaxes at his side. “I don’t smell her. Scott did well.” 

“He did. The whole staff will be handsomely rewarded.” 

At Derek’s words, Stiles gives a small nod. 

“I would have you rest, if you feel like it. Test the bed?” 

Stiles’ fingers flutter at his side. “Must I? I’m- I feel like- I just want to be out of doors.” Indeed, there seems to be nervous excitement running through Stiles’ body, as if he can’t stop tapping his fingers against his thigh. 

“You know you mustn’t. I wanted to offer, in case you felt like you needed it.” 

Stiles is already heading back out of the bedrooms, relaxing marginally when they enter the bigger space of the grand staircase down to the great hall. 

Derek suspects he knows what Stiles is feeling all too well. He’d felt it after he finally realized what Kate had been doing to him, using him for. And he knows what worked for him then, to help him overcome the feelings of helplessness. Perhaps it would work for Stiles now.  


“We could train, you and I, this afternoon. If you like.” 

Stiles’ eyes swing toward him. “We could?” 

“Aye. I’ve no major responsibilities, beyond, oh, the responsibilities of running an army and defending a newly occupied keep.” 

At that, Stiles laughs, a happy sound that Derek wants to make happen again and again. “You’re really going to train me?” 

“Everyone seems to be doubting me today.” 

“Are you going to take me to the lower bailey?” 

As they pass through the front door, Derek takes a moment to survey what is, for now anyway, until the King makes a decision, his property. “We could, if you like. All of the equipment is set up there.” 

Although Stiles looks happier outside, he blushes, though the only way to tell against his bright red skin is the way his ears go pink. “I’d- I’d rather not be amongst the Alphas and Betas, if that’s okay.” 

“I was thinking of a clearing, down by the river. It’s nice and flat, shaded so your skin won’t get worse. And with easy access to the water. There’s a natural pool there, where the current is calm and lazy, and the water’s warmer.” 

Stiles appears to be lost in thought as they both look in the direction of the river. “I think I remember the spot you mean.” Derek’s not sure that Stiles realizes it when he starts tugging Derek along the path to the river. “Scott and I used to spend time there as children. Mostly to get away from the duties Melissa had assigned us, well, assigned Scott…”

Derek lets Stiles ramble, happy to listen, as they walk toward the river, still hand-in-hand. Be damned what anyone might think. He loves listening to the ups and downs of Stiles’ voice, the way he laughs, self-deprecating, as he talks about his younger self. Derek wants to give Stiles a million more memories that he can talk about like this. 

“Oh, here it is!” Stiles’ voice is bright as they walk into the clearing, the one Derek had noted before on his trip to wash in the icy river. 

As he remembered, it’s partially shaded and free of any large stones or something Stiles might get hurt on. “Perfect.” He hesitates, brushing his fingers over Stiles’ knuckles before dropping the hand and bringing his to his hips. “You mentioned you had a routine?” 

Some of the sunny disposition leaves Stiles’ face as he thinks about the cell. Derek can’t begrudge him the feelings; it will probably be like this for a long time. Lord knows how long it took him to get over Kate - if he has at all. 

“There wasn’t really enough space to move, much, so I just kind of…” Stiles drops to the ground, doing a few ground presses, pushing his body up so that his arm muscles strain. His core stays tight, his back stiff, and Derek’s impressed with his form as he completes a quick set of twenty. He looks a little winded, but not overly. And Derek has to swallow against the surge of lust that hits him when he notices Stiles’ biceps working. 

Without talking, Stiles flips over, crunching up from a lying position to touch his knees before dropping back down. He makes the most adorable scrunching face each time he sits up, before he notices that Derek is watching him intently, and he tries to school it into something more professional again. 

When he finishes another set of twenty, he stays sitting up, running his fingers through his hair as if embarrassed. “That’s it. I mean, I can do more, but...I know it’s not much.” 

“Not much?” Derek sits cross-legged in front of Stiles. “Those exercises are probably what kept you alive down there. You’re already much stronger than you think.” 

“But I- I got winded going up the stairs. I still do! You had to help me earlier.” 

“Yes, but that makes sense. You just need to do exercises now to improve your lung power.” 

“My lung...power?” 

“All things that would have been very hard to do in as small a cell as you were kept. But now...it takes time, yes, and I can’t promise it will be easy. I’ve seen warriors puke on their first run in full gear.” 

“Run? Like...from something?” Stiles looks genuinely perplexed. 

“Have you not noticed my warriors running around the keep’s walls? They do so to keep fit, to stay ready for battle at a moment’s notice. They work hard not to let their muscles atrophy.” 

“I thought you were going to teach me how to fight.” Now, Stiles seems disgruntled. 

With a laugh, Derek pushes to his feet and holds out his hand to help Stiles up. “Oh, I’m going to. But from now on, starting tomorrow morning, I want you to join me for my morning run. We’ll start slow.” 

“I already hate the sound of it,” Stiles grumbles.

“Ah, now you sound like one of my soldiers. Come, now, fighting stance looks like this.” 

And with that, Derek begins training Stiles in the art of taking down an Alpha attacker, whomever it might be. 


	7. Omega Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is healing - slowly. Also a big decision is made. 
> 
> CW: I added a "Past Suicidal Thoughts" tag, this is in regards to Stiles' imprisonment and is talked about in this chapter.   
> I also added a "Praise Kink" tag because fight me about Derek's praise kink.

Stiles shivers. The cell feels especially cold and damp tonight. He thinks it’s December, now. He’s not sure. Scott always tells him the day when he brings the morning meal, so he doesn’t lose time, so he doesn’t go crazy, but Scott’s being kept from him, he’s being punished. 

Boots click along the hallway’s stone floor. It’s not Scott’s gait. As he suspects, Kate appears from the shadows, her blonde hair swept up in a fancy hairstyle, her gown edged with gold. She looks every bit the regal Alpha lord she is. Stiles doesn’t bother getting up. Nothing he’s done in the last four years during any of these visits changes the outcome. 

“Aww, pup, is that any way to greet your master?” 

Stiles looks steadfastly at the book in his lap, pretending to concentrate on the words even as his rage burns inside him. He tries to calm himself; he knows Kate’s aroused by the scent of an Omega in distress. She’d made that clear years ago. He tries so hard, but he never seems to be able to master his emotions around her. 

In an instant, she’s inside the cage, and ripping the book from his hands, demanding his attention. His eyes dart for the open door, but she grabs his chin, hard enough to bruise, and makes him meet her eyes. As he suspected, she looks almost delirious with pleasure. Her nails begin to pierce into his skin, and his eyes sprout tears, he can’t help it. He bites down hard on his cheek to stop. 

With a swift thrust, she slams his head against the brick wall, and he blacks out. 

When he comes to, the door is locked once again, Kate’s gone, and so is the book. His head hurts, vaguely, as does his jaw, but still, he doesn’t give in to crying. 

If he refuses to eat for the next week or so, Kate will relent and give him back his reading material. She always gives in. Never wants Stiles to kill himself. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why. It’d be easy to make it look like an accident at this point. She wants him alive for something. Maybe that would be the ultimate revenge. Deprive Kate of his life.

“Stiles?” 

Stiles starts, waking from the dream groggily to a soggy pillow and Derek’s hesitant hand reaching out to comfort him. He flinches back, and Derek drops the hand, moving it back across the bed. He’s sitting in his night clothes on the edge of Stiles’ bed, because of course, now that they had separate rooms, of course they wouldn’t sleep together. 

Stiles hadn’t realized until just now that Derek’s scent must have been keeping the nightmares at bay. Screwing up his courage, he crawls into Derek’s lap, shivering. Derek’s arms wrap around him at once, running over his back. 

“You’re freezing,” Derek murmurs in observation, pulling up one of the blankets around Stiles’ back and shoulders. 

“Just a nightmare,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s chest. He realizes, belatedly, that Derek’s not wearing a shirt, and he has his nose pressed directly in the curly hair at the center of his chest. 

Derek says nothing, just continues stroking over Stiles’ back. 

It’s not completely dark in the room - Derek must have been working, because he brought in a single candle that sits flickering on the table beside Stiles’ bed - and for that Stiles is grateful. And Derek is delightfully warm, though Stiles is still shivering. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Stiles’ fingers clutch at Derek’s arm. “I- think I do, but I need- I need you to understand, and I don’t think you will.” 

“You’ve had a singular experience, Stiles. I- I probably won’t understand, but I promise I’ll listen.” 

Stiles lets his eye close. He supposes that’s all he can ask for. “A few years ago, I- I felt very alone, and hopeless. Kate had been spending more time here, and she’d discovered how lenient the guards were being, letting Scott down to see me and visit with me every day, allowing me books. It was horrible, but at least it was...survivable. And then she came, and took that all away, and- and I- I just didn’t want to be alive anymore.” 

He knows the smell of his despair must be coming off him in waves, but he can’t find the strength to try and suppress it like he would have with Kate. Still, he shudders, pushing back a little. “That’s what my dream was about. That time. I don’t feel like that anymore, of course.” He says it with a false bravado, not confident it’s true at all. 

From the look on Derek’s face, he doesn’t believe Stiles either. “What do you need, Stiles?” 

And Stiles is floored. He’s not sure if anyone has ever asked him that question before. It gives him the courage to voice what he’d wanted to say ever since they’d gone their separate ways for bed. “I’d like to not sleep alone,” he whispers. 

Derek’s lips brush over his forehead. “I can aid with that.” 

He gathers Stiles’ body up in his arms, waits for Stiles to grab the candlestick, and starts walking them toward the Alpha bedroom. As Stiles suspected, Derek’s covers are untouched, his desk littered with paper. But when he sets Stiles down beside the bed, he doesn’t go back to work. Instead, he pulls back the covers on his side, and waits for Stiles to join him. Once Stiles is settled into his arms again, he blows out the candle and settles them in for sleep. 

 

Stiles lets out a grunt as he lands directly on his ass, and looks up at the clear blue spring sky. Then, his vision is filled with Derek’s face, which is at once both worried and obviously attempting to hold back laughter. Once he sees that Stiles is fine, he doesn’t hold back any longer, letting out a short chuckle that might be considered a guffaw in other men. 

“I didn’t even touch you.” 

“I’m aware,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. He uses the staff he just managed to trip  _ himself _ with to push himself up off the ground. 

“Mayhap we should stick with hand-to-hand. I’ve no desire to see you cut your own arm off with a sword, either.” 

It’s hard for Stiles to remain irritated with Derek; there is humor in the situation, after all. And besides, it’s thrilling how much progress he’s made. Why, he can actually do a whole loop running around the manor now, with no walking or rest breaks. The proud look on Derek’s face had made Stiles preen. 

Combat training is going… less well, but still not awfully. “Mayhap hand-to-hand is best, anyway, because it’s more likely I’ll be attacked when I’m not around any weapons. Omegas don’t exactly strap swords to their waists.” 

“I wouldn’t object to seeing a sword strapped to your waist. Or a dagger strapped to your thigh.” Derek’s voice gets lower, an unmistakable sign that he finds Stiles desirable. 

This too, their relationship, has been going well, as far as Stiles can tell. Every morning, Derek wakes Stiles for their morning run. Stiles grumbles for the first ten minutes, basically nonstop, until the grumbling turns more enthusiastic. It never occurs to Stiles that he should just stop talking. In the afternoon, Derek finds Stiles, wherever he may be, and lures him away for training. And every night, Derek gathers Stiles in his arms and keeps the demons away. Sometimes, Stiles drifts into sleep after an amazing orgasm, Derek’s hand still wrapped around his cock, his lips pressing at Stiles’ neck. 

If he hasn’t woken to Derek’s cock pressing into his thigh in the morning, he’d think Derek totally uninterested in his own pleasure. 

But then there are little clues, like the way he’s looking at Stiles now, as if he’s imagining Stiles completely naked, that reassure Stiles. 

Stiles tosses the staff away, taking a fighting stance, his legs lowering into a partial squat, his hands out before him. With a grin and a twinkle in his eye, Derek discards his own weapon and gestures for Stiles to attack him. 

Sometimes Stiles is able to best Derek, but mostly, Derek ends up dumping Stiles straight back on his ass again. 

This time, however, Stiles feints a punch to instead sweep out his legs, and it’s Derek that’s dumped on his superior ass. As Derek has trained him to, he follows through by straddling Derek and securing his arms in a way that, were he to continue pushing, would cause Derek immense pain. Instead, he nods, satisfied, and loosens his grip. 

Derek’s hands come to play over his hips. “Yes, I think we should stick to hand-to-hand combat for you,” he says, his voice teetering on laughter. 

The way Derek smiles makes Stiles tingle, and he involuntarily rocks his hips, grinding them together in a way that makes it obvious he’s not the only one aroused. He leans forward, brushing his lips over Derek’s. 

“What were the conditions of our mating again? That we waited until I was strong enough to fight an Alpha off, should I need to?” Stiles whispers in Derek’s ear, feeling him shiver despite the warmth of the day and the sweat on their bodies. 

“Aye, that you’d be strong enough to make a choice and defend yourself for it,” Derek clarifies, sounding breathy. 

Stiles rolls his hips again. “I feel strong enough. What say you?” 

“Stiles,” Derek groans, taking Stiles in their arms and flipping their positions. “This is not the place.” He groans again, drowning the sound in Stiles’ lips. “But I wish it were.” 

Stiles places his hand where Derek’s heart is beating wildly in his chest. “Not the place for me, no, as we don’t have our oil. But for you…” He wrestles Derek over again, tracing his hand down to the waist of Derek’s pants. He has no experience to base this on, except what Derek does for him, and every time, Derek starts with a question. “May I touch you?” 

Derek hesitates, then nods. Stiles brushes their lips sweetly together, even as one hand sweeps below Derek’s clothes. It’s not hard to find Derek’s cock, larger than his, and hot to the touch. He explores the texture for a moment before Derek’s gruff voice fills his ear. “Lick your palm. It’ll help.” 

Despite giving him the advice, Derek groans when Stiles does exactly that, licking his hand and then sliding it under again to explore Derek’s cock. “This … will go inside me? Lord have mercy.” 

Derek lets out a little laugh at Stiles’ blasphemy. “It’ll work. It just takes...patience.”

“You’re so good at patience, aren’t you?” 

Stiles’ heated words make Derek groan. 

“You’ve been waiting on me, wanting to make sure I’m ready. Such a good Alpha.  _ My _ good Alpha.” In between his bouts of praise, Stiles nibbles at the space under Derek’s ear, the place that always makes Stiles shiver when Derek does it to him. “So strong, my mate. You’re so strong. You could have pushed me, but you’d never. You’re too honorable. I love how honorable you are.” Each word a stroke, a pull on Derek’s cock. Derek’s never this talkative in bed, but Stiles truly doesn’t know how  _ not  _ to be, especially not when he feels like he’s being struck with lightning, full of energy. 

Derek takes a handful of Stiles’ hair and crushes their mouths together. He shouts into the kiss as he comes, covering Stiles’ hand and his own pants. 

Curious, and because he’s seen Derek do it before, he brings Derek’s seed to his lips, pops a fingerful inside. It’s salty, slightly bitter, and all Derek. The scent, the flavor make Stiles want to float away with desire. 

Moreso, though, he wants Derek to mark him with it, inside and out and stuffed full of it, so thoroughly marked that no one can mistake who his mate is. The thought of it inside him has Stiles rubbing, riding Derek’s thigh to completion with a moan. 

When their breathing has come back to normal, Derek meets Stiles’ eyes. “We’ll have the mating ceremony two days hence. Is that acceptable, sweet one?” 

Stiles shivers. “Very.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, a mating, a mating!
> 
> Also I've got a week of hecticness and then a week of Spring Break coming up, so the posting schedule will remain, as always, strange and irregular and not scheduled at all. I had a pretty good Lyme Disease week, though, so that's something! Then again, I had a new person for my hyperbaric chamber session and she didn't actually pressurize the chamber so I could just be feeling good because I didn't have that treatment this week. Who knows! yay disease!


	8. Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the mating ceremony - from start to finish - does not go as expected.

The sweet smell of the blossoms adorning both Derek’s and Stiles’ hair barely covers up the rusty copper scent of the not-yet-dry blood on their clothes. Melissa had practically shoved the traditional wreaths on their heads the moment she realized Derek was beyond capable of waiting to mate Stiles any longer.

A cut over Derek’s eye is slowly stitching itself together. There’s a bruise on Stiles’ cheek and a fierce glint in his eye - their chests are practically still heaving from battle, and Derek knows adrenaline is pumping through his veins. He can smell it coming off of Stiles, too.

Their wedding day had started off so normally…

 

For a couple who had bucked nearly every single mating tradition along the way, Stiles finds a vast amount of amusement in the fact that Melissa insists he and Derek spend the night before the mating in separate chambers. She even plants herself in Stiles’ Omega bedroom to keep watch.

“Your mother, God rest her soul, would have wanted to be here. I hope you know that, Stiles.” Melissa is combing through her hair in front of the mirror while Stiles tries on his ceremonial mating robes. They’re skirted, and he prefers pants, so he frowns, picking at the hem. Still, the workmanship - that of Claudia and her hand-Omegas, kept in a chest in Melissa’s house for safekeeping when Claudia died - makes him feel soft and vulnerable. He barely knew his mother, and yet he can still remember her face, her touch, her words.

“It feels like she is,” Stiles admits, trying not to let himself tear up as his fingers trace over the embroidery, all done in Stilinski colors. “And it fits, wonder of wonders.”

“Aye, though you’re looking a little broader in the shoulders now than you did when Derek came.”

“The training is paying off.” He remembers the way Derek looked at his body, back in the clearing, and blushes, hiding it by pulling off the gown and handing it back to Melissa for her to place reverently back in place.

He pulls on his nightclothes - ironically, the only place he likes skirted tunics, but for propriety because Melissa is present, he ties on a pair of tights, too. He settles into the bed, trying not to think about how lonely and cold it feels without Derek warming him, and pulls over one of the gigantic tomes from the keep’s library. He somehow doubts he’ll fall asleep, so he wants to have plenty of reading material.

The bed depresses as Melissa sits next to him, closing the book and drawing his attention. “Stiles, I fear that because of your being an orphan at such a young age, and because of your … experience in the dungeon, no one has explained to you how it’s supposed to be between an Alpha and an Omega.”

It takes two seconds for Stiles to clue in to what Melissa is so delicately trying to say, and then he’s bright red. “Melissa, I-”

She holds up a hand to quiet him. “I’m sure you...have more experience than any Omega should ever have. I just wanted you to know that, if your Alpha is patient, and it seems like Derek is, mating can be...almost pleasant.”

Stiles thinks of Derek’s large hand wrapped around his cock, giving him the perfect amount of pressure, until he can no longer think of that when he’s in the same room as Scott’s mother. “No, Melissa, I’m sure it can-”

“Just- if anything happens, or if you need any advice, please, come to me. Or to another Omega. We understand. We have a code. And now that you’re to be mated, you must live up to that code, too, Stiles. If another Omega comes to you in distress-”

“Of course I’d help them,” Stiles says with a frown.

“Our laws don’t always support you doing so.” Melissa’s eyes feel like they’re boring into his soul.

“I care not for laws.”

Finally, Melissa smiles. “Good.” She pats his knee and returns to the chair at the vanity, picking up a book for herself.

“That’s it?” Stiles blurts out, meaning, _You’re not going to tell me how the hell he’s going to fit that thing inside me? You’re not going to tell me how the Bite feels? You’re not going to explain what it’s like to be mated?_

“What else would there be?”

Deflated, Stiles gives a small murmur of acquiescence and pulls his book up to cover his face.

 

The ceremony won’t be held until evening in the chapel, so after some shenanigans with Melissa and Scott that keep Derek and Stiles apart to break their fasts - Stiles misses not being able to go on their morning run together, which is silly, because he always grumbles about waking so early - Stiles makes rounds in the village with Erica, who dutifully takes notes of what needs to be done. He feels slightly under the weather, but he goes around, just like his father used to do. He wishes his father were here to show him everything.

After observing the blacksmith for a little bit, Stiles leaves the smithy building, flushed and sweating.

“Are you all right, Stiles?” Erica frowns, pulling out a kerchief and handing it to him.

Stiles smiles a little at the use of his nickname. Erica never really has stood on formalities. “I just need to cool down. I think I’m going to go for a quick swim, if you’ll take those notes to Isaac to get started on? And let a couple of guards know where I am. I’m going to get a head start down there, though.”

“Yes, sire.” Erica is frowning at him, though, looking worried.

“I’m fine! The water will be perfect for me.” He turns Erica toward the keep and pushes her forward. “Go on.”

With a happy laugh, he turns and heads down to the river.

 

Derek’s going over some papers with Peter when two of his warriors burst in the front door of the keep. They start upon finding him, then approach them, kneeling, as Derek rises from his desk to look down at them.

One of the warriors elbows the other. “You tell him,” he says under his breath, though Derek hears it anyway.

“Tell me what?”

The other warrior - Jacob, one of the new recruits from the village - looks up, nervous. “Alpha Lord Hale, it’s Stiles.”

All of Derek’s blood rises to the surface in anticipation of what Jacob has to say.

“He’s gone, sire.” Jacob holds out a torn, bloody scrap of material, covered in Stiles’ scent.

“Where did you find this?” Derek roars, already striding to the door, Peter and the warriors following in his wake.

“By the river. We were just minutes behind him, Master Hale, he-”

Derek cuts him off by raising a hand, then gripping Peter’s shoulders. “Uncle Peter, I need you to stay here and watch the keep. It could be an ambush - a way to lure me out.”

“And you so willingly obey?” Peter raises a brow, even as he grips the pommel of his sword.

“They have Stiles,” Derek says simply. “Will you have my back, uncle?”

Peter looks him over, his mouth a grim line. “Aye. I’ll keep your manor well protected.”

“Thanks be to you, and God.” He turns back to Jacob even as he throws open the keep door. “Did you leave someone to track them?” He calls out to Tobie for his light battle equipment.

“Aye, sire, it’s, um. Scott took that job.”

For the first time since being delivered the news, Derek relaxes marginally. If anyone can track Stiles, it will be Scott - or Derek himself, but he’s glad Scott’s on the job, too. It takes he and Tobie a minute to strap him up, and then he’s running toward the river, following a blend of Stiles, Scott, and something else, some third party, that clings to the air.

He stops to examine the scene at the river. There are obvious signs of a struggle, a mixture of blood on the grass, Stiles’ and the other person’s. Derek grins savagely at the thought of Stiles managing to hurt his attacker, though his blood boils over considering Stiles injured.

He catches up with Scott quickly, and finds him examining another piece of torn cloth. Scott hands it over easily, continuing to walk while he lets Stiles’ scent guide them. “He’s leaving them deliberately. To keep the scent trail fresh.”

Derek clenches the fabric in his fist, nodding. “He’s a clever lad. He’s had to be, to survive.”

They fall into a silence as they track Stiles by his scent. They find another scrap of cloth before Stiles’ scent starts to grow too strong to be just a piece of clothing. Quietly, using the signals he’s taught Scott, he and Scott split up, hopefully to flank Stiles and his kidnapper.

“Are you always such a whiny asshole?”

It’s an unfamiliar voice that rumbles through the trees, sounding frustrated as hell.

“Listen, you’re the one that kidnapped me, on my mating day, of all times, and when I’m not feeling well, so if I’m acting cranky, you’re fully to blame.”

Stiles, his voice full of life and humor, seems to bring the breath back into Derek’s lungs. _That’s right, little one. Use every weapon at your disposal, including your sharp tongue._

There’s a grunt, and then a slap of flesh on flesh. “Maybe that will keep you quiet.”

Stiles snorts, even as Derek goes rigid at the insult of someone hitting his mate. “Nothing keeps me quiet, you know. Maybe you should just let me go. I can get way more annoying than this.”

The other man growls, and Derek’s sure Stiles is about to be physically attacked again. _I just need to make sure he can’t get in a position to kill you, Stiles,_ Derek thinks desperately, following their noises through the forest.

He hears Stiles’ short intake of breath, a small gasp. “What’s this?” the villain says. “Have you been leaving these behind? You _idiot Omega-”_

Deciding he can wait no longer, Derek breaks through the overgrowth, sword drawn. He’s able to briefly take in the scene: the kidnapper, his hand leaving bruises around Stiles’ wrist as he tries to wrestle a piece of cloth out of it, Stiles’ face twisting in pain. There’s just a moment, before all three of them move again.

The kidnapper twists Stiles’ arm, throwing him to the ground, even as he reaches for his sword. Derek spares a brief moment to make sure he’s not going to step on Stiles as he lunges forward with his own blade, intending to slice. The kidnapper manages to dodge just in time, landing a blow on Derek’s forehead that knocks him back, shaking his head to clear it. Still, he raises his sword to strike again, but it swings through empty air, because the villain is...on the ground, Stiles’ legs twisted in his in a wrestling move Derek taught him, his arm pinned in a breaking position as Stiles pants and grins savagely.

“Thanks for the distraction,” Stiles snarks, his lips tipping up.

“Just this one?” Derek asks, swinging his blade up to protect them from any onlookers.

“He said he could move faster, just the two of us. We’re supposed to meet up with the rest of his soldiers before nightfall, though.” Stiles twists the kidnapper’s arm, making him groan in pain.

“Kate?”

“He didn’t say. Or he hasn’t yet, anyway.”

Stiles starts as Scott comes crashing through the overgrowth, then grins at his best friend. Feeling safer with another to watch their backs, Derek strides over to the villain and places his sword under his chin. “Tell me everything.”

“Tell us.” Stiles add a little extra encouragement that makes the man whine.

“This whole job is more trouble than it’s worth,” the man grumbles. “It was just supposed to be an easy snatch an’ grab. Little Omega, how could it be a problem?”

Stiles snorts, not loosening his grip one bit.

“And who paid for this job?”

“I’m not sure- ah! Okay, okay, Christ.” The villain pants as Stiles twists his arm. “Yes, the Argent Alpha, the younger one. Kate.”

At confirmation of her name, Stiles bares his teeth. Suddenly, a small jolt of lightning travels down Stiles’ arm and into the man’s body. He starts, then goes limp, as Stiles watches with a dropped jaw. “What-” He scrambles back, looking at his hand, then back at the man. “Is he dead?”

Derek drops to his knees to check the man’s pulse. “No, he’s still alive.” Derek stands, pulling Stiles up with him as Derek’s soldiers find them. “Tie this man up, and bring him to the keep. I’ll be sending him, along with my uncle, to my mother to testify to Kate’s treachery.”

In his arms, Stiles is shaking, still looking down at his hand. “What did I do?”

Derek begins to walk away, confident in his orders. Around the first big tree, though, he pauses, pushing Stiles up against it and covering Stiles’ mouth with his. He pours everything into the kiss, every feeling of the last few hours, and he feels Stiles do the same. All the fear, the anxiety, the adrenaline. Stiles’ fingers scrabble into his hair, and Derek’s hands slide down his body, and for a few moments, the only people that exist in the world are them, entwined in each other.

Derek’s panting when he pulls back, nuzzling over the bruise on Stiles’ cheek, turning his head to kiss the dark finger marks on his arm. “It was nothing,” he says, though he’s not quite confident that’s true. “It was nothing, and now you’re safe, and we are going directly to the chapel after this because I cannot stand this feeling, knowing you’re not mine yet and I could lose you.”

Stiles seems to read his skepticism regarding what just happened in the woods, but he lets his mouth fall shut, putting up no protest when Derek starts walking back toward their territory.

 

As Stiles looks up at Derek, watching the cut over his eye slowly heal, seeing the cherry blossoms the villagers twined for them in the traditional wreath, he’s suddenly overwhelmed with a desperate happiness. He can’t name it, but everything in this moment feels right. He’s enveloped in Derek’s scent even as the priest lays the cloth over their joined hands and begins the ceremony.

He remembers nothing the priest says, lost in Derek’s eyes. He knows his cheeks must be flushed, because all of a sudden the only thing he seems to be able to think about is the part that comes after this ceremony. The part where Derek will place the mating bite, buried inside him, make them one being to fight the world off together.

He becomes aware, slowly, that Derek’s pupils are dilating just as slowly, as they lean more closely together, as all time seems to slow to molasses. There’s a strong scent, and it takes Stiles more than a few moments to identify it as himself, to realize it must be connected to the yearning in his gut.

“Stiles, answer the priest,” Derek whispers urgently.

“What?” Stiles asks weakly, looking between the priest and Derek.

“Do you promise to obey-”

“Yeah, yes, I do,” he cuts off. “Wait, obey-?”

Derek laughs, not even waiting for the priest’s leave before leaning in to take Stiles in his arms again. The kiss is every bit as carnal as the one they shared at the tree. He thinks the scent is growing stronger.

Somehow, he’s swung up in Derek’s arms, and somehow, they’re walking up the stairs, and somehow, they’re in the bedroom. Stiles remembers almost none of the journey, lost in the deep kisses Derek gives him every few minutes.

He wants, very much, to complete the ceremony, to lay in bed in Derek’s arms once again. But as Derek shuts the bedroom door, the cooler air of the upstairs awakens him a little. “Derek, I’m not- I think I might have a fever.”

Derek sets him gently down on the bed, his fingers going to the torn hem of Stiles’ tunic. “May I check you for injuries, my love?”

Despite feeling dizzy and feverish, Stiles manages a grin. “I’m pretty sure I just promised to obey you, so yes, why not?”

Derek snorts. “Those promises are old fashioned. I’d prefer to promise my own.” He lifts Stiles’ shirt, feeling over his warm skin, gently checking for further injuries. He kisses the bruises at Stiles’ wrist tenderly. “I promise to serve you.”

Stiles is caught up in Derek’s face again, but this time it’s his lips, and his love words. “I promise to never betray you,” he murmurs back.

“I promise to love you.”

“And I you.”

“Then that’s all I need.” He unties Stiles’ pants and begins slipping them off, still checking for injuries. “I see nothing that-” He pauses, frowning.

“What? What is it? Am I dying?” Stiles’ heartbeat kicks into overtime and he sits up, twisting this way and that to check for some big, gaping wound that he hasn’t even felt.

“No, shhh, little one, it’s okay, it’s just-” Derek laughs. “You smell - I couldn’t place it, Omegas are always taken away when they- I couldn’t place the smell, you smell-”

“What?” Stiles asks, still on the edge of panic.

 _“Ripe. Ready.”_ He takes Stiles’ hand, running it down his body, then between his legs. Together, they smooth over his perineum, back to his hole, which is...wet. When Derek brings their fingers back up, they’re not covered in blood, like Stiles’ expected, but a shiny, slick substance. Derek immediately pops their fingers into his mouth, sucking the substance off each, his tongue whorling around the tip of Stiles’ index finger. “Stiles, you’re in heat.”

It’s as if naming it allows Stiles to connect all of the dots, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with it. “I- heat?” he asks, even as he knows, in his gut, that Derek is right. He’s never felt this before, and yet-

He whimpers, dragging his fingers down, prodding at his hole once more. It’s hot to the touch, swollen and slick. How had he not felt that before? Then he remembers the scent emanating off of him during the ceremony. Maybe it just started.

That gnawing feeling, the one that tells him he needs to get as close as possible to Derek, intensifies. He fingers himself desperately even as he tries to crawl into Derek’s lap and pull off Derek’s clothes at the same time. It fails, of course, as he can’t do it all at once, and Derek reaches out to steady him.

He takes Stiles’ chin and meets his eyes. “Stiles, this means- it possibly means you could pup. I need to know if that’s something you want.” He stills Stiles’ fingers, trying to get him to concentrate.

Everything in him is screaming at him to get Derek’s cock inside him now, as quickly as possible, as often as possible. He shakes his head, attempting to clear it. Pups...pups… He remembers his mother dying in childbirth, the midwife’s sad shake of her head to his father. He remembers sitting on his father’s lap, watching him cut their food with his knife and offer it to Stiles’ lips, somehow fighting past their grief, still a family. He remembers holding a newborn in the village just days ago and feeling something so deeply yearning in his soul he hadn’t dared tell anyone else about it.

He pulls Derek’s hand to his heart, so he can hear him as clearly as possible. “I want them. Do you?”

Derek listens to him, his eyes intense. “I do,” he finally whispers, as if he’s making his own deep confession.

Stiles wraps his slick fingers around the back of Derek’s neck and pulls him closer. “Mark me. Mate me. Breed me,” he whispers savagely, capturing Derek’s lips.

Derek pushes him back down on the bed, covering him in a way that makes Stiles feel safe and protected and also like he needs to get closer. He whimpers when Derek pulls back.

“Shhh, love, I just need to get this off,” he mumbles, pulling at his tunic, which gets caught on the cherry blossom wreath.

Stiles laughs, even as his fingers crawl down to prod at his hole again in wonder. It feels so good to have something inside him, he just keeps pumping them in and out as he watches the hilarity that is Derek trying to undress as quickly as possible.

When Derek’s done, he grabs their vial of oil from the chest near the bed. “Just in case your body doesn’t produce enough slick yet. I’ve heard first heats can be unpredictable.” He groans as he takes in the sight of Stiles. Stiles can only imagine what he sees, his long, lanky pale body, dotted with moles, his fingers shoved up his hole, his cock rock hard, red, and leaking precum down the shaft.

Derek bites down on his lip, moving back to the bed and moving to kneel between Stiles’ legs. He looks dazed, like he can’t stay away from Stiles’ wet heat any longer. Spreading Stiles’ knees, he hooks them over his shoulders, moves Stiles’ fingers aside, and immediately latches onto Stiles’ swollen hole.

Stiles groans, his hips arching, trying to get further into Derek’s mouth. Derek’s tongue is licking up inside him - he’s done this to Stiles before, but never has it felt as amazing as this. He shoves his slick fingers through Derek’s hair, crying out, beyond caring if anyone else in the keep can hear his cries echoing through the stone hallways.

Derek replaces his tongue with two oiled fingers, scissoring them inside Stiles’ hole. They seem to sink in like butter, and Stiles groans. He’s ready, beyond ready, needed Derek’s cock an hour ago ready. Derek, with limitless patience, just sucks a bruise on the inside of Stiles’ thigh as he continues to stretch Stiles on three fingers, then four.

“Mark you,” he rumbles, licking over the bruise before making a matching one on Stiles’ other thigh. He travels up Stiles’ body until he’s pressing Stiles into the mattress, his fingers still working inside Stiles.

Stiles automatically bares his neck for his mate, and Derek groans, nuzzling in, his beard scratching the delicate skin there. He breathes in deep against Stiles’ swollen scent gland, then sinks his teeth in, the pain barely registering in Stiles’ overwrought system. The bite floods hormones through his body, sending his heat into overdrive as his soul bonds with Derek’s.

“Mate you. Mine. Mine.” Derek’s words are practically a growl against the bite.

He presses Stiles’ thighs wide, making his cock slippery with the mixture of oil and slick that’s leaking out of Stiles. He starts to slide in, his whole body tightly controlled, his eyes glued to Stiles’ face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hurt.

Stiles whines, pushing his hips up, wanting to take Derek all the way in. He feels so good, so full, but he can only imagine the potential, what’s coming, and he wants Derek to be there, _now._ He lifts his legs, wrapping them around Derek, digging his heels into Derek’s taut ass and dragging him in.

With a shout, Derek pushes the rest of the way in, his breath panting against the open wound on Stiles’ neck. He licks at it as he waits for Stiles to take control again, to let him know he can move.

Stiles rolls his hips against Derek’s, feeling his cock brush deep inside him, where pups will grow someday, if they’re lucky. He scratches his fingers down Derek’s back. _“Now!”_

Derek holds nothing back now, fucking into Stiles at a steady pace, angling his hips until he finds the spot inside Stiles that makes him keen, then battering that spot with everything he has. Stiles moans, coming untouched between them, his back arching. His cock barely flags between them as Derek continues to pound his prostate, his balls slapping against Stiles’ ass. Stiles can taste blood on his lip, and keeps himself from biting through it by taking Derek’s lips and pouring all of his moans there, where Derek happily receives them.

The base of Derek’s cock starts to expand, tugging at Stiles’ rim and making the steady motion of Derek’s hips stutter. Derek is panting into his mouth, groaning every time Stiles squeezes down around his knot, speeding his pace to reach finality. They both grunt when the knot finally catches, when it expands so much that Derek can’t take it out, and Stiles’ hole swallows it greedily. The hard knob of it presses directly onto Stiles’ prostate, the continual pressure making him see stars. He sinks his own teeth into Derek’s neck, replicating the mating bite, as he comes again, continually, more moisture between them. Stiles has to imagine this is what it feels like to have flight, to soar through the air on the wings of a bird.

“Breed you.” Latching onto Stiles’ neck once more, Derek begins pulsing inside of Stiles. Stiles can feel the warmth of it, filling him up, the head of Derek’s cock brushing, pulsing against his most secret, deepest area. He just keeps coming, groaning as Stiles rhythmically squeezes around his knot, trying to suck him dry. Stiles, greedy in his heat, wants everything Derek can give him, and then some.

Before collapsing, Derek manages to switch their positions, so Stiles is draped over his chest as he continues to come inside him. Stiles feels limp as a rag, impossibly satisfied. It’s better than food after a week of hunger striking for something against Kate. It’s better than slipping into a warm bath when the keep is impossibly cold. It’s better than the ripest cherries of spring, so ripe they drip juice down his neck when he bites into them. It’s better than everything.

He’s not sure how long he lays there, dazed, but when he comes to, Derek’s heart is no longer thundering under his ear. He lifts his head, meeting Derek’s eyes. Derek looks lazy, all smug Alpha. It’s the first time Stiles has ever seen him give that look, and, he decides immediately, he’s perfectly fine with it as long as he’s the one causing it.

Derek’s beautiful eyebrows furrow, though, enough that Stiles has to ask, “What?”

“You’re...you’re literally glowing.”

In surprise, and shock, Stiles looks down to his hand, laying on Derek’s arm. In the darkness - the candles must have gone out at some point - his skin _glows_ against Derek’s.

With wide, horrified eyes, Stiles looks back at Derek, dumbfounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Finally, boning! I could have probably broken this up into two, but... meh. :D
> 
> Also I expect I won't update next Sunday as I'll be busy. I may update before that, but no promises.


	9. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' heat continues: a very short chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my phone so please be kind about typos and weird formatting.

Horrified, Stiles starts to pull away from Derek, pulling his glowing hand away from Derek’s skin.

“Wait-” Derek reaches for Stiles' hip, trying to get the Omega to not tug painfully on where they are still tied together.

“No!” Stiles yells at the same time, continuing to pull away. “No, I don't want to hurt you-”

But when Derek’s hand gently grabs Stiles’ hip, those same lightning bolts that knocked out his kidnapper earlier just skitter over Derek's skin before crackling out of existence. With Stiles no longer glowing, Derek can't make out his face, so he leans up, resting against the headboard and pulling Stiles tightly against his chest.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's neck. “I can't believe you did that. I could have hurt you! We didn't know…” The tears are evident in his voice, so Derek just holds him more tightly.

“You didn't kill the man earlier, as much as you had a right to. I had faith.”

Derek's fairly sure he hears a “Foolish, arrogant Alpha” comment muttered against his chest. With a small smile, he presses a kiss to Stiles’ hair, then runs his fingers down his back until he comes to the place where they are still joined. He fingers around the rim of Stiles' hole, where Stiles’ body has spread so wide to receive him. He's still producing slick, which pleases Derek: it's an indication that whatever was keeping Stiles from experiencing heats has not permanently damaged his body.

 _Whatever was keeping Stiles from his heats…_ Derek muses, even as Stiles squirms against his touch. “Did- Stiles, we'll only have a few precious moments before your heat kicks in again. Can I ask you about your time in the dungeon?”

He regrets asking when Stiles shivers against him, his skin going cold despite Derek, despite his heat. “Shhhh, you're safe,” he murmurs as he pulls a blanket over to cover them, even though he's sweltering.

Stiles leans back to make eye contact with him. “What would you like to know?”

“Did Scott see your food prepared?”

“I don't- I don't really know.” It takes seconds for Stiles, his whip-smart Omega, to connect the same dots along which Derek had been thinking. “You think she was somehow putting suppressants in my food.”

“Yes.”

Stiles’ face darkens. “I thought I was broken. She made me think I was broken.”

Derek runs a soothing hand over Stiles’ hip. He has to admit, Stiles straddling his body while they're still knotted is giving his cock all sorts of ideas, none of which are appropriate when his mate is upset.

“One more crime for which she needs to answer,” he mutters.

Stiles looks down at his now-not-glowing skin. “Do you know anyone like me?”

 _There's no one like you,_ Derek wants to answer, though he realizes this is not the time for romantic declarations. ”With lightning coursing through his veins? No,” Derek admits.

“But you've seen...something like this before?”

“My mother has a mage on her staff. For defense. Though I've never seen her glow.”

Stiles' frown lifts slightly at one edge. “I should hope not, mate.” He deliberately moves his hips, instinct already telling him how he can use Derek’s knot for his pleasure.

“Yes, little Omega, just like that,” Derek breathes, his cock already stirring inside the Omega’s body. “Take your pleasure.”

Stiles leans forward, his eyes hazy with heat, and places his hands on Derek’s chest to steady himself. One finger slips over Derek’s nipple, standing out among the whorls of hair on his chest, and Derek groans. Stiles notices the effect immediately, and even while grinding his prostate on Derek's knot, he leans forward and takes one of those nipples in his mouth.

Derek shudders, slipping his fingers through Stiles' hair and pushing him closer. The grinding is slowly driving him insane. He can feel the cum and slick inside that his knot is plugging up. He desperately wants to add another load in there, until his mate is well and truly bred. But all he's getting is the slow grind of Stiles' hips. And yet, he's happy to let the Omega have complete control.

Stiles drags his mouth away from torturing Derek's nipple, resting his head on his shoulder instead. “So good,” he groans. “So good, so good, so good…”

A sound of pleasure rumbles through Derek’s chest. He slips a hand down to where they're joined, where Stiles' hole is hot and swollen, his slick leaking out around the knot. That extra stimulation seems to be all Stiles needs, his inner walls closing around Derek's knot like a vise as he comes again.

Derek captures Stiles' mouth, greedily wanting Stiles' cries only for his himself and not the rest of the keep. Stiles bites down on Derek's lip, drawing blood, which sends Derek over the edge in a way he doesn't want to analyze. He just squeezes Stiles tightly to his chest as he floods him with his seed once again.

A deep satisfaction fills him as he watches the glow come up on Stiles' skin again and watches Stiles dissipate it in a harmless spark along Derek's own skin. The grin on his mate’s face makes Derek feel warm with pride.

It only takes a few moments for Stiles to start squirming on his lap, though, trying to find a more comfortable position to fall asleep in.

“I've got you,” Derek promises, pulling a blanket over the both of them and letting Stiles settle himself. He listens as Stiles' heartbeat and breathing steady out, as his mate starts to snore softly. “I've got you, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness but hey, at least it's an update!


	10. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek helps Stiles through the last of his heat. Plot, what plot?
> 
> CW: I added the tag "Panic Attacks" for this chapter. It's very brief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get an update today because I'm busy tomorrow again.

Stiles wakes up slowly, aware that his cock is hard and his hole is dripping. He thinks it might be slick but considering- well, the thought that Derek’s cum is slipping out of his overheated hole makes his stomach twist with want. 

Sometime during his nap, Derek rearranged them, and now he’s spooning Stiles, his arms wrapped around him, one hand resting on his stomach like he can will a pup there. Stiles glances over his shoulder, realizing that it’s the first time he’s ever caught Derek asleep. Normally Derek is aware of his every move, every nightmare at night. It’s always Derek waking him up in the morning, not the other way around. 

He hadn’t realized what he’d been missing. 

Derek’s dark lashes are resting on his cheeks, making his eyes look almost delicate in sleep. It’s a contrast to the dark contours his high cheekbones give, covered in beard though they are. Stiles remembers the feeling of Derek’s beard between his legs, brushing him in his most sensitive places. It’s too hard to keep his moan in, but he manages, relishing this time with Derek too much to ruin it. Still, he can feel more slick drip out of his hole. 

Derek’s face is more relaxed in sleep than it ever is awake, like he’s constantly clenching his jaw and Stiles never realized. He wants to trace over the rosy lips, first with his fingers, then his own, but he’s cherishing these quiet moments too much. 

_ My Alpha. My love. My fated.  _ It’s hard for Stiles to take in all at once, being freed, meeting Derek, discovering he can, in fact, have heats  _ and can shoot lightning out of his fingertips- _

The sudden memory makes his heart beat faster. He’s not sure he likes the power. What if- what if whatever is making it not hurt Derek now somehow fails? It’s not like he can control it. It just seems to come out of him when he’s … emotional. 

Does Kate know? He feels something tug at the back of his memory, something that happened before Kate threw him in the dungeon, but when he tries to think about it, he finds that his breathing gets shallow and his heart beats quickly and suddenly he can’t breathe-

Derek’s arms tighten around him, pulling Stiles to his chest. “Stiles?” His voice is a rumble that Stiles can feel on his back. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m so sorry-”

Derek nuzzles into his neck, kissing over his mating bite. “I’m here for you,” he says simply. “Nightmare?” 

“I-um. I’m not sure.” Quickly, Stiles explains the feeling the blocked memory gives him, trying not to become overwhelmed again. Derek’s steady massage over the skin of his hip helps, though. 

“Could it be more magic?” Derek asks. 

“You ask that like I know anything about...about what’s happening to me.” Stiles feels close to tears, but while Derek’s hand brushes over his stomach, he manages to calm himself. 

Derek hums in consideration. “I’ve heard tell of a woman in the woods. A wise woman. Mayhap we should seek her out, see what she can answer for us.” 

“You’d- you’d go with me?” 

Derek tips Stiles’ chin so that their eyes meet. “I’d go to the ends of the Earth for you, I need you to know that, mate.” 

_ “Der-” _ Stiles pulls Derek down, kissing him with everything he’s been feeling since he woke up. Automatically, it seems, Derek’s fingers slide down to where the slick is dripping out of his body. When he works three fingers easily inside of Stiles, he growls. 

“I’m surprised this isn’t what woke you up. I’m surprised you have a clear enough head to speak right now.” 

Stiles snorts. “I’m in heat, not brain dead.” 

Derek’s cheeks go ruddy. “I must admit, I have no experience with an Omega in heat, just what other Alphas have told me. Which I’m now realizing, may have been biased.” 

“Mayhap,” Stiles concedes with a small smile, pulling him down for another kiss. “Still, I feel like if you don’t knot me soon, I’m going to crawl out of my skin.” 

This time, Derek’s growl is mixed with a laugh. With some maneuvering, he helps Stiles up to his hands and knees, humming a little at Stiles’ body on display. 

Stiles arches his back, presenting, trying to entice his mate. He may still be skinny after his imprisonment, but the floor presses from that time make his arms shapely now, if Derek’s appreciative look is anything to go by. 

Unable to stand the heated look in Derek’s eyes, Stiles surprises himself and whines, pushing his slick-covered hole back towards Derek. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, love,” Derek murmurs from behind him, and Stiles lets his head drop down in readiness. 

It’s not Derek’s cock, though, but his tongue that breaches Stiles’ hole. Stiles keens, pressing his hips back, feeling Derek’s beard on his cheeks. He wants to arch like a cat in the sun at the feeling of Derek’s tongue licking inside him, flicking around his over-sensitive rim. 

Derek rumbles behind him. “You taste so fucking good, Stiles.” It’s a half-feral growl, the words, but Stiles understands. He feels half-feral himself, clawing into the bed sheets. 

He’s not sure how long Derek keeps him on the edge, teasing him, then pulling back when Stiles is just about to spill. All he knows is that he’s hoarse from begging Derek to let him spill when Derek finally sinks his cock into Stiles’ wet heat. 

Stiles sobs, dropping his upper half down so that his head is resting on his arms, buried there, wiping away the wetness on his cheeks. The moment Derek has sunk all the way in, the moment Stiles can feel Derek’s heavy balls against his ass, Stiles explodes. The orgasm shatters through him, euphoria flooding every vein, artery, every nook and corner of his body, making his toes curl and, embarrassingly, making him drool on his on arms. 

“Omega fucked dumb” is something he’s heard Alphas say around other Alphas when they don’t think any Omegas are listening, like his guards, and Stiles has always dismissed it. 

He now understands quite intimately the meaning of the phrase. 

Derek gives him a small moment’s respite from his intense orgasm - he can still feel the edges of it in his extremities - before he starts fucking into Stiles. Each press of Derek’s cock over his prostate seems to renew his orgasm, until it just seems to be pulsing through Stiles’ body as Derek uses him. He’s fairly sure he’s still crying, and he knows damn well he’s glowing, because he can see the difference between them where Derek has his hand wrapped around Stiles’ stomach for leverage. Stiles’ own cock is still hard, but he’s completely empty, dribbling out the last little bits of cum onto the sheets below. 

Derek’s knot finally catches on his rim, and with the last amount of energy he has left, Stiles squeezes around it, encouraging Derek to fill him up. With a growl, Derek spills inside him, breeding him once again. 

Derek manages to get them to collapse sideways, back in their spooning position, and Stiles snuggles backwards as much as he’s able. He pulls Derek’s arm around him, bringing his knuckles up to kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs, the last thing he remembers before sleep takes him. 

 

“I hate you,” Stiles grumbles, trying to bury himself more deeply in the covers. 

“The water is steaming warm,” Derek whispers in his ear, his voice enticing. And yes, that does sound good, so Stiles lets Derek pull him out of their thoroughly debauched bed. 

The heat is gone, and everything is sore, and Stiles feels as if he could sleep for another three days. But being in Derek’s arms is soothing, and he nuzzles his nose into the dark curls of chest hair, loving the scent of them mixed together. 

He groans loudly when Derek eases him into the water. It’s deliciously warm, and he must remember to thank Isaac and the staff for putting so much effort into making sure he has a hot bath to come out of his heat in. He sinks down until the water is lapping at his chin, letting his eyes close. 

“You mustn’t drown yourself, Omega,” Derek says gruffly, but when Stiles’ eyes pop open, Derek’s smiling at him. 

“You could get in yourself, and save me from such a wicked fate.” He smirks a little, sure Derek is going to want to get away from him after being locked away in the Alpha bedroom with him for four days. 

To his surprise, though, Derek’s cheeks warm at the invitation, and he nods, somewhat awkwardly, before slipping in behind Stiles. With a happy sigh, Stiles leans back on Derek, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so thoroughly used up, so perfectly relaxed, so completely satisfied. He feels like he could melt into the water like butter. 

Lazily, their lips brush together. There’s no move toward sex - neither of them want it right now, not after the last four days - but the brush of lips is a comfort, a connection. Even when they clean their most intimate places, when Derek’s thick fingers prod at Stiles’ used hole, there’s no push for completion. They’re both absolutely sated. 

“Tell me what we must do today,” Stiles sighs, letting his head rest on Derek’s shoulder again. 

“You, my love, are going to sleep. Your body needs it. I’m going to make sure nothing has fallen apart in our four day absence.” 

“Okay, but hear me out: I take half of the places we need to oversee, and you take half, and then we meet back here and sleep for another four days. Together.” 

“And you thought I fucked you dumb.” 

“Did I really say that aloud?” 

“You say the most wonderful things when I’m inside you,” Derek says, breaking out in a laugh at the blush on Stiles’ face. He sobers, though, pressing a kiss to his nose. “This is where I must admit that all of my Alpha instincts are telling me to keep you in my bed, because you’ve been thoroughly scented, you smell of me, every inch, inside and out, and I want to keep it that way.” He runs a soothing hand over Stiles’ hip. “And I just heard how that made your heart jump, and I never want you to feel that I’m just like your jailer, so yes, that sounds like a good plan.” 

Stiles shifts, cupping Derek’s face in his hands. He rubs his thumb over his beard-roughened cheek. “You will never, ever be like Kate. I just- I may never be able to stop myself from reacting to an Alpha that wants to keep me in...even if it’s just for a nap.” 

Derek lifts them both from the water, and it’s no hardship to watch it sluice off of Derek’s body, that’s for sure. Derek starts to dry him, impossibly gentle, and Stiles feels his heart squeeze once again, falling even more in love with him. 

When Derek wraps him in the drying cloth against the chill of the keep, he leans in, resting his forehead against Stiles’. “Let’s go through our errands together, then. I can’t quite bear to let you out of my grasp yet.” 

Stiles is fairly sure his grin wraps from ear to ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea that Alphas would make up stuff about Omega heats just to make Omegas seem weaker, kind of like how periods were perceived for thousands of years. 
> 
> Also, I don't think I did a well enough job at this, but Stiles is supposed to be Derek's first Omega lover. He's somewhat of an Omega virgin, if you will.


	11. The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has a confession for Stiles.

“Boyd, report?” Derek settles down at his writing desk, his second-in-command seated across from him.

Despite his promise to work together, Stiles had been quickly called away by Melissa to help with some Omega matters in the village, leaving Derek to pine and worry, then shake his head at his own foolish behavior.

He’d seen in Stiles’ eyes just how much the Omega desired him, looking over his shoulder one last time even as his hand slipped into Melissa’s. Still, everything in Derek’s body called for Derek to follow his Omega, to the ends of the Earth if need be.

He focuses back on Boyd, who’s detailing the few problems he’s come across the last few days. It seems the keep has been relatively quiet, though buzzing with excitement given Derek and Stiles’ mating. More than one person has suggested that there might be the pitter-patter of baby feet around the keep sometime soon. Derek tries to walk away from those people quickly. Yes, he wants pups with Stiles, but the deep-seated need to pass on his lineage isn't here, yet, anyway.

“Any news from my uncle?” Derek prompts, when Boyd has run down his report.

“Nothing yet, sire, but they just left four days ago.” Boyd’s intelligent eyes meet his. “You suspect him, don’t you?”

Derek takes out his knife to sharpen the nib on his quill, frowning. “I don’t want to suspect him.”

Boyd leans back in his chair, more comfortable now that the formal part of their meeting is over. “That’s not an answer, Hale.”

Derek finds no disrespect in the informal address. Boyd has been fighting by Derek's side for years, after all. “It’s not as if he’s made his reputation by being an angel.”

“He’s your blood. That makes this difficult.”

“He _raised_ me, Boyd.”

“And you me.”

“I just trained you,” Derek scoffs, but Boyd just arches an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, then you understand what I mean.”

“I may not have known your uncle for as many years as you have, but I’ve been around him long enough to know exactly what kind of a son of a bitch he is,” Boyd growls.

“He wouldn’t just let Kate get away! Not after what she’s done to m- to my sister’s handmaiden.”

Boyd crosses his arms, then sniffs, and straightens. A second later, Derek makes out what Boyd had scented, and a second after that, Stiles steps into the doorway, one hand clutching at the frame as if he’s about to run away.

Derek and Boyd both stand, showing their respect for the highest ranking Omega in the keep. Stiles blushes, and nods at them.

“Keep yourselves well, my lords,” Boyd says, and after receiving a dismissive nod from Derek, he exits.

Derek lets a small smile lift his lips when Stiles closes the door behind him. Stiles looks freshly warmed from the sun, and even though the scents of the village surround him, Derek can still smell himself all mixed up in Stiles’ scent. He walks over to his Omega, pressing a hand to the small of his back and sweeping him into a kiss.

Stiles has a faraway look on his face when Derek pulls back, unconsciously licking over his lip and making Derek want to dip again and take more. But he’s stopped when Stiles says, “I heard you say...Kate?”

“Worry not, littl-”

Stiles cuts him off. “I’m not worried, I’m angry. And I’m wondering why, now that I’m strong again, we aren’t taking the fight to her.”

“Because that’s what I did last time, and look how that turned out,” Derek bites off, irritated all of a sudden, the way Kate always makes him feel.

“Oh, well, that makes me feel wonderful, thanks, _mate.”_  Stiles crosses his arms over his chest.

Derek’s mouth drops open, but he recovers quickly, letting his lips quirk up. “Oh, mate? Do you want me to try and ambush her again, only to find another strong-willed, too-stubborn-to-die, utterly delectable Omega? Want to be one of a harem, perhaps?”

It’s Stiles’ turn to look shocked, but his face settles again just as fast. “You wouldn’t know what to do with two of me.” He smirks.

“Lord above, that’s true.” Derek dips his head again to kiss that smirk away. His lips linger when Stiles’ arms wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek’s beard. “I don’t understand, I’m out of heat, why do I feel like this?”

“Like what?” Something devious in Derek makes him want to hear his Omega confess his wants aloud.

“Like I’m ready to hang off your knot again.” Stiles’ voice is small, but defiant, like he knows exactly what Derek’s game is.

It would do Derek well to remember exactly how whip-smart his mate is. He doesn’t have an answer, just sweeps Stiles up in his arms and carries him back to his desk. Before he can untie Stiles’ pants, though, Stiles’ stops him, his hands gentle but firm. Derek looks up in question.

“We’re going to get to that again, and soon, Alpha, but I did come here for a purpose.”

Stiles stays perched on his desk, but Derek settles back into his chair, contemplative. He can wait. He has Stiles for the rest of his life, God willing. “How can I be of service?”

If he’s learned one thing about Stiles over the last weeks, it’s that he can rarely stay still. Derek’s not sure how he managed to stay sane in his confinement. Like clockwork, Stiles hops off the desk and starts pacing the room.

“You suspect your uncle of warning Kate about your arrival.”

“Aye.” He’s not surprised Stiles picked up on his conversation with Boyd. He has a feeling Stiles has a whole host of skills he’s yet to see.

“So let’s reason it through. Why would he betray your family that way?”

Derek frowns as he watches Stiles pace the room. He has a set pattern that he works, over and over. “That’s why I’m hung up on the answer. He always taught me that family was the most important thing. That when all else fails, the Hale name is to be held above everything. That everything we do as knights is in service not to my mother, my Alpha, but to the family. But he knows-”

Derek cuts himself off, and Stiles pauses in his pacing, his whiskey eyes meeting Derek’s. “He knows what, my Lord?”

Suddenly it’s Derek that can’t quite stand the confines of the keep. “Will you walk with me?”

Stiles simply holds out his hand with a smile.

 

Derek waits until the trees surround them, until he can hear only the birdsong of the forest and no humans from the village, before he speaks again. Stiles’ fingers are warm tangled in his.

He can only start with a statement of fact. “You didn’t judge me when I said I’d been with Alphas before. That’s not something I just tell people, you must know.”

Stiles frowns, looking ahead. “It’s not common.”

Derek lets out a little laugh. “It’s not commonly talked about, no, but it’s happening a lot more often than you think. What else could, when we hold Omegas up on a pedestal, to be untouched?”

“I’ve never thought of it that way. So it happens...often? At court, or…?”

“Aye, at court. On campaigns. Wherever Alphas are around other Alphas. For some, it’s their preference, which...some Alphas think that those Alphas are wrong somehow. That we should only be together because we’re saving Omegas, not because we actually enjoy it. It’s messy and complicated and ridiculous.”

Stiles, bless him, remains calm, keeping their hands together. “And what is your preference?” he asks, and Derek gives him credit for his bravery.

“Both, I think? I mean, I’m your mate, Stiles, and your fated, and I will never forget that. And you can rest assured that I desire you, and desire to be with you. I just- I needed to explain about that to tell you more about my past.”

“Did you, um- or were you-” Stiles falters, his cheeks going red, obviously uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“Again...both,” Derek admits, the confession a little harder than the last one.

Stiles glances up at him. “Would you like it if I- maybe with my fingers, I know my cock isn’t-”

Derek flushes for an entirely different reason, his blood rushing to his own cock. “That would be- I would like to explore that, if you would, too. There are, um… devices.”

Stiles eyes widen. “Oh?” he says faintly, and Derek can smell his arousal, before he seems to shake his head to clear it. “But what does this have to do with Kate and your uncle? He’s not...one of your paramours?”

Derek barks out a bitter laugh. “God, no. No.” He swallows, working up his courage. _“She_ was, though.”

Stiles stops walking, dropping his hand. “What?”

“Not- I mean.” Frustrated at his own lack of ability to communicate, Derek leans against a tree and rubs his hand over his face. “She used me, Stiles, the way she uses everyone. I was 16, almost through my squire training, almost a knight, feeling like an adult.”

Stiles crosses to him, taking his hands once more, and using his deep eyes to look into Derek’s soul. “Tell me what you want to tell me.”

“She was...convincing.”

“She’s a snake,” Stiles mutters under his breath, making Derek laugh. He leans down, resting his forehead on Stiles’.

“Aye, she is. Of course no one could know. Those types of affairs are never talked about at court. She told me I couldn’t tell my Alpha, or my uncle. But she was using me, like I said. She attempted a coup on my mother’s life.”

“Your mother survives,” Stiles says slowly.

“Aye, but we lost a good deal of guards. Squires. My friends. My parents nearly perished in the fire. Because I let her get close.” Derek looks away, but he can’t quite make himself drop Stiles’ hands. “The woman who has tormented you for almost half your life, I let her in. I thought I _loved_ her, mates be damned, society be damned. You should hate me.”

Derek expects Stiles’ hand, but he expects a slap, or a hit. Instead, Stiles slides his fingers over Derek’s jawline and tilts Derek’s head back to him. “You seem to be doing enough hating of yourself, I scarcely think I need to pick up any slack.” He attempts a small smile, sweet and toothy.

It’s the smile that breaks Derek, and he wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls them tightly together. “You asked why we linger here, why we aren’t going after Kate. I don’t know how to beat an Alpha who brought me to my knees, Stiles. And if I can’t defeat her, I leave you vulnerable and defenseless to her, and nothing scares me more.”

Stiles pulls his hand away from Derek’s cheek, closing his eyes in concentration. His hand beings to glow, slightly, before Stiles gasps out a breath and it winks away. “I’m not entirely defenseless, despite that weak show,” he manages.

Derek frowns, taking Stiles’ hand and bringing it to his lips. “Nay, you aren’t, are you?”

“You know what I think?”

“I know you’re going to tell me,” Derek says with a wry smile, appreciating the upturn of Stiles’ lips.

“I think Kate takes something strong-” he looks at his own hand, then places it over Derek’s heart, “She takes something strong and makes it weak, so she can control it. She drugged me. She seduced you. But she thinks once she’s made us weak, we’ll stay weak forever, and that’s not the case, is it, Derek?” Stiles’ grin is fierce, magnificent.

Derek wants nothing more than to fight beside him in battle, to take him, and be taken by him, to sink into him and make them one. The feeling rushes through Derek like a thunderstorm, and the only way he can express it is to capture Stiles’ lips, to hear his shocked little gasp and then deep moan, to feel the way Stiles goes pliant against his body.

“Now, now, boys, if you keep that up, you’ll never make it to my place.”

Derek’s hand immediately goes to his sword even as Stiles stiffens against him. They both turn to see the source of the voice: a petite Omega woman with long, red flowing locks done up in braids and dotted with beads, her hand wrapped around an intricately carved staff. She looks like she knows exactly how to use it.

Stiles turns his head slightly, curiously. “You’re-”

“Yes.”

“Who?” Derek asks, confused.

“I’m Lydia, the woman of the woods. You spoke of me three nights ago. Come.”

With a flourishing turn, she heads deeper into the forest, Derek and Stiles following closely behind.


	12. Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia gives Stiles an explanation for his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: I added "non-consensual drug use" as a tag because it seemed like the closest thing to what Kate did to Stiles with the suppressants, which gets mentioned again (and talked about in more detail) in this chapter.

When Stiles stumbles trying to keep up with the woman of the woods, he rights himself and threads his fingers through Derek’s. He can’t help being even more clumsy than usual, not when he’s so flustered at the sudden appearance of  _ her. _

When he’d come out of the cell weeks prior to no sign of Lydia, he’d assumed the worst - death - and hadn’t wanted to ask Scott or anyone about her. 

There’s a reason Stiles had been so understanding about Derek’s Alpha-Alpha relationships. And that reason is currently sashaying through the forest ahead of them. How could he judge Derek when he’d been in love with the Omega Lydia, the daughter of the cordwainer, for most of the life he’d had before he’d been imprisoned?

He can’t help but drink up everything about her as they walk. She’s wearing a blend of Omega and Alpha clothing, not unlike what Stiles likes to do himself. Thick wool tights, to protect against the elements and the cold, yes, but also a skirt that falls just above her knee. It’s a style most people would find scandalous. Lydia has never much cared for anyone else’s opinion, however. Her tunic is sturdy, too, and Stiles can see little rips in it that have been carefully mended. He starts to understand as they push through some brambles, deep in the woods, to come to a clearing. 

A little cottage sits there. Quaint, almost, and quiet. Stiles is fairly sure he’s walked past this exact spot before and has never seen or even smelled Lydia here. There are some chickens pecking idly in the yard, itself a tangled yet tidy mess of vegetables and herbs. There are more herbs drying along the eaves of the cottage as they walk toward the front door, and Lydia pulls down a bundle, smelling them before taking them inside with her. 

“Come on, then,” she beckons. 

The space inside is small, but utilitarian. Every nook and cranny is serving a purpose. This settles Stiles somewhat - this is what he remembers of Lydia. Practical. Smart. Lively. 

There are only two chairs, so of course Derek gestures Stiles to one and then stands behind him like a guard, one hand resting protectively on his shoulder. He feels the warmth of it, the heaviness of Derek’s protection as Lydia goes through the motions of preparing tea. He takes a moment to turn his head and press a kiss to Derek's knuckles, before settling in to watching Lydia.   


“What happened to you?” he finally manages, his voice sounding young again, like he hadn’t spent nine years in prison. 

“You don’t remember.” It’s not a question, but a statement, as Lydia glances back at him. “I’m partially to blame for that. I’m the reason she knows what herbs to use, after all. To suppress your heats, your power, and your memories.”

Stiles tenses even as she places a steaming cup of tea in front of him. “Not these, I suppose? Or would you have me weak as well?” 

Lydia scoffs, taking his tea and sipping it herself, arching a brow as if in challenge. “I’m not interested in weakening any Omega.” She settles in the other chair, then looks up at Derek and rolls her eyes. “Come, Alpha, sit.” In an instant, another chair appears beside Stiles, and Derek seems to collapse into it, surprised. 

Stiles remembers his glowing skin, and the lightning. “Can I do that?” he asks, taking a sip himself. It’s earthy and sweet, and Stiles takes another sip, letting himself be warmed by the tea. 

“No, your powers always manifested with...how do I say this? Less subtlety. More flash-boom-pow.” Lydia’s eyes dance with Stiles’, her mirth clear. 

“I can shoot lightning.” 

“Aye. The Spark, indeed.” 

“What do you mean, the Spark?” For the first time, Derek joins the conversation, his voice cautious. 

Lydia scoots her chair over, reaching out a hand for Stiles’ chest. At the last second, she glances first at Stiles, then Derek, and asks, “May I touch you, Stiles?” 

It should be a question she asks his Alpha, but both she and Derek are looking directly at him. “Y-yes,” he replies, after a moment’s hesitation. 

There had been a time when all he would have wished for in the world, besides a return to life for his mother and father, was a touch from Lydia, daughter of the cordwainer. Now, he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, but not for desire. No, it’s pure anxiety that grips him now, and he shudders with it. Before Lydia’s fingers can reach his chest, Derek grips his hand. “Breathe, love,” he whispers in Stiles’ ear. “Just breathe.” 

If he is forced to name the anxiety, he’d say that it feels as if he’s standing at the edge of a great precipice, one of unknown power, and Lydia’s touch will turn him straight over into it. She seems to recognize this, and pulls back, pushing the mug of tea into his hands. “Drink.” 

Between Derek and Lydia, he’s brought back from the edge of panic. “Do it,” he whispers. “Get it over with.” 

She touches his chest, just above his heart, and he feels, for a moment, as if he’s filled with fire. It’s more than the warmth of Derek’s hand on his arm, ten times more, a hundred times more, filling every part of his being. It's no surprise to see himself glowing, again.   


“Your Spark,” Lydia whispers. “Every Omega has one.” She touches her own chest, and a light fills her, to match Stiles’, though not quite as bright as his. “Over the centuries, it’s been bred out of us. Long ago, every Omega was as powerful as you or I, just as every Alpha is as powerful as your mate here.” 

Stiles glances back at Derek, who’s staring at them both with wide eyes. Stiles’ heart lurches for a moment, worried, but then Derek’s hazel eyes meet his, and Stiles can see the absolute  _ wonder _ shining through. He thinks there might be pride there, too, but certainly not the disgust or horror he feared. 

“You wouldn’t notice it in most Omegas. Melissa, for instance, she has such a knack for nursing the sick back to health, doesn’t she? But no one would ever call it a supernatural talent.” 

“I don’t understand. If we all have it, why...why doesn’t anyone talk about it?” 

“If you go back far enough, if you search hard enough, you’ll find texts about our powers that weren’t destroyed long ago. But the truth of it is, we forgot. We became weak. And those among us that were strong, they made into outcasts.” She gestures at the cottage around her. “Or imprisoned,” she says, nodding at Stiles.

“But why not- why not just kill me?” Stiles gripped Derek’s hand tightly, drawing it into his lap for comfort. 

“Try to remember, Stiles. What happened when Kate tried to kill you?” 

 

_ Stiles can feel the lightning coming off him in waves. The fury, the rage, the fear, all blending together and rolling off of him. He’s fairly sure his hair must be standing on end.  _

_ Kate’s eyes widen, her grip on Scott’s arm tightening. The knife nicks at his throat, drawing blood, and Stiles howls with rage. “Get back, freak!” she yells, pulling Scott with her to the door. Scott’s eyes are watering up, pleading with Stiles to do  _ something. 

_ But he’s too far gone, and he has no control. The energy blasts out of him, but he can’t control it in any direction, least of all Kate. Instead, the tapestries on the walls, the furniture - he can tell now, he’s in the main hall of the keep - burst into flames, and he collapses to his knees, weak, unable to stop Kate as she throws Scott to the floor.  _

_ Victorious, Kate glides over to him, sheathing the small knife and drawing her sword. “You think you can poison me?” She thrusts the blade into his abdomen, and Stiles braces himself for the punch of hurt, grabbing there. _

_ Still, it never comes, and there’s no blood. Kate tries again, and it’s as if the blade passes through him. He laughs, taunting, as Kate’s face contorts in anger.  _

_ “Devil child,” Kate snarls, even as Stiles pushes himself to his feet. _

_ Everything hurts, and Stiles can barely keep his eyes opens. He’s never completely drained his powers before, and now he knows why Lydia warned him not to. He’s weak, and vulnerable, and even though Kate can’t kill him, he’s going to lose.  _

_ She forces the herb down his throat that first time. It tastes like nothing. He’d have to give up eating completely to guarantee he’s not consuming it ever. At first, he tries to give in only once a week, but as he takes more of the herb, he forgets why he was avoiding the food in the first place.  _

 

A broken sob brings him back to the cottage, and then he’s being pulled into Derek’s lap, Derek’s arms strong and steady and warm around him. He realizes belatedly that he’s the one who’s crying, but amidst the tears, he manages to relay to Lydia and Derek what he remembers now. 

“I’m going to kill her,” Derek vows, his voice dark even as his hands are gentle.

“She could have killed me later, though, couldn’t she have?” Stiles manages. 

Lydia clears their empty tea cups. “She must have been keeping you around for a reason. You  _ are _ the most powerful Omega I’ve ever met. If she could figure out a way to control you, manipulate you...she would be extremely powerful with you by her side.” 

“Powerful,” Stiles scoffs. “I couldn’t kill her then. I can barely do anything now.” 

“Your powers are growing. I can feel them now. When you were locked away, I had no idea whether you were alive or dead, but I felt you coming to me earlier.” 

“We weren’t coming to you, Lydia,” Stiles protests. 

Now Lydia smirks. “Sure.” 

Rolling his eyes at her crypticness - seriously, he’d been in love with her? It seems such a pale emotion now, compared to what he feels for Derek - Stiles rises, trying once against to raise lightning from his fingers. 

“I’ve felt your power growing over the last few weeks. It was only a matter of time before it drew you here, to me. We have a job to do, after all.” 

Stiles looks from his hand up to her face. “Oh? What’s that?” 

Lydia’s grin is more like a baring of teeth. “We need to train you so you can kill Kate, of course.”

 

Later, much later, he's sitting on the bed in the Omega bedroom, not even under the covers, just sort of staring into space. He feels like he's stuck here, in this headspace of confusion and misunderstanding. He doesn't even notice Derek until the bed depresses beside him. Blinking, he looks to his mate, who looks just as shocked as he does. 

"I'll understand if you'd like to sleep...separately now," Derek murmurs, his voice sad and his eyes averted. "I thought I would just come say good night." 

It makes Stiles blink out of his brain fog some. "Wait, what? No, no, I-" Stiles looks down at his fingers. "This room reminds me of my mom, that's all. I'm not sure why I came here." He watches relief fill Derek's eyes. "Come here, mate-mine." He pats his thighs, and is surprised when Derek lays his head down on his lap. He likes the positioning, though, and being able to stroke his fingers through Derek's thick, dark hair. 

"You think I'd want to sleep separately because of what you confessed earlier?" 

Derek gives him a little shrug. 

"I was ... maybe thinking the same thing about you, and me having powers." 

Derek laughs a little, his shoulders shaking against Stiles' thigh. "We're a mess." 

Stiles continues sweeping Derek's bangs off of his forehead. "That we are. A beautiful mess, though." He leans over, kissing Derek's brow. "I don't want to sleep alone. Especially after today." 

"I don't want to sleep alone either. It was a hell of a day." 

Stiles scoots out from underneath Derek, helping him off the bed. "Come on."

It's much easier to let the worries of the day slip away when Derek's arms are wrapped around his waist, when his breath even out against Stiles' neck. Stiles finally falls asleep to the sound of their heartbeats evening out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a second update! :D


	13. Battlements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of porn, and just a little plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added tags: Versatile Derek Hale, Versatile Stiles Stilinski

It takes three clean strokes to ‘dispatch’ Timothy, one of the soldiers he’d recruited from the old Stilinski keep’s guard. He holds out a hand to pull Timothy up, then pats his shoulder. “You must keep an eye on your weak side.”

“Yes, milord,” Timothy grumbles, hand clutching at where Derek’s wooden practice sword thwacked him. 

“Get some water and then come back and spar John.” Derek pats his back as he leaves, then glances up as Scott and Stiles walk out of the woods. His instincts scream at him, to rush over, to rub his scent all over Stiles, get any lingering smell of Scott or Lydia off of him, to throw him over his shoulder and take him up to the keep and keep him there for a good long while. 

He’s able to resist all this Alpha posturing, though, when Stiles smiles brightly at him, and he and Scott angle to head down to the training yard. Still, Stiles’ smile is weak, and he looks even paler than normal, his moles standing out, so Derek strides quickly to meet them. 

“A rough day?” he asks, looking between Scott and Stiles. He expects Scott to look sheepish - Scott almost always subordinates himself to Derek, but instead, Scott’s face is radiant with...pride?

“I may have obliterated the practice tree,” Stiles says, his grin beaming. A little of his Spark rises up from within him to make him glow, even as he transfers his arm from Scott to Derek. Derek can feel how drained he is of energy. This is normal, after practice with Lydia, and yet, each day, he grows stronger. Derek is suspicious that his own face may be reflecting Scott’s pride in Stiles. He can’t help himself, pulling Stiles up for a deep kiss. 

Scott clears his throat. “Is there anything else you need, my lord?” 

Derek barely looks away from Stiles’ eyes as he dismisses Scott. Stiles manages a mumbled goodbye before leaning in to another kiss. 

“And you, my lord? Is there anything you need from me?” Stiles whispers against his lips, his own quirking up in a mischievous grin. 

Derek groans, even as he buries his face in Stiles’ throat and proceeds to scent mark the hell out of him. “I’ve duties.” 

“One could say taking care of your Omega is a duty, couldn’t one, my lord?” 

It’s been a week or so since Stiles’ heat, a week full of training for both of them. After the marathon sex of Stiles’ heat and their exhausting days, all they’ve felt like doing at the end of the day is holding each other.

“Mmm,” Derek agrees, his lips playing with Stiles’ earlobe now. “One could stay it’s my paramount duty. After all, you’re so weak and defenseless, you need your Alpha around all the time,” Derek teases.

There’s an unmistakable scent of Stiles’ slick even as Stiles bites his lip in retaliation for his words. He’s no longer pale from overwork at Lydia’s cottage any more, a rose blush gracing the apples of his cheeks sweetly. His eyes are full of light and mischief, and Derek’s cock is so hard at the look that he scarce believes he can walk. “Well. I think I’m going to go take a nap. Regain my strength, you know, my lord.” 

God above, why does he love it so much when Stiles calls him ‘Lord.’ It’s the proper address when they’re in public, or Lord Hale, as Stiles is Lord Stilinski, but the teasing lilt Stiles gives it makes Derek weak at the knees. 

He watches Stiles saunter off toward the keep, never glancing over his shoulder, confident in Derek’s desire. He knows Derek will follow, always. 

That confidence is so good, so assuring, that Derek waits barely a minute to bark some orders at Boyd about the rest of afternoon training (having to take Boyd’s shit about being a lovesick puppy in the meantime) before heading off to the keep himself. 

He ignores the knowing glance of everyone he meets; besides, Boyd told him that it’s good he’s so obvious in his affection for Stiles. It helps cement his bond with the original Stilinski residents. They’re loyal to a fault to Stiles, but that loyalty has spread to Derek as well, covering him like a warm blanket. He never realized he could feel such ties to a place and a people. He’s spent his whole life moving from place to place, defending his mother’s people without ever really knowing them. Now that he has land for himself, now that he has these people to protect, he knows exactly how his mother feels: he would die for them, happily, if he could keep them from harm. 

Stiles is laying on the bed in the Alpha bedroom - what they’ve both come to think of as  _ their _ bedroom - his tunic still on, but his long, glorious legs naked and alluring. He’s still blushing, and the scent of slick is headier now, fuller. His fingers play over the fabric of the tunic, lifting it a little to reveal his flushed, hard cock and mole-dotted stomach. The moles are a constellation Derek wants to follow with his tongue, so he doesn’t waste any more time, kneeling beside Stiles on the bed. 

The second Derek’s lips touch his skin, Stiles lets out a soft groan, his fingers coming to card through Derek’s hair. Derek kisses each mole as he slides up, pushing the tunic out of the way until Stiles finally pulls it off in frustration just as Derek reaches his nipples. Stiles gasps when Derek suckles on one, and Derek immediately pauses and looks up. 

“I’m okay, Der, keep going. That was just- I’m sensitive there, apparently.” 

“But you’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”

Stiles smiles down at him, his eyes soft. “Aye. But not yet.” 

Letting out a mischievous grin of his own, Derek returns to his task, licking over the raised, pebbled texture of Stiles’ nipple, then leaning back to blow on it, just to feel Stiles writhe beneath him. His fingers come up to tweak the other nipple, and he drinks in the sounds, the moans Stiles makes. He’s gotten used to all the sounds his mate makes, the way he babbles in bed, and in life, filling up silence with noise. Derek can’t begrudge him the habit after he spent so many years with only himself for company. 

He kisses across Stiles’ chest and laves attention on the other nipple now that the first is puffy and red. His hands skim down Stiles’ body, teasing over his soft stomach and resting flush against his hips. He loves the long lines of Stiles’ body, how they’re of a height. When the second nipple has been as exquisitely tortured as the first, he moves up, sucking marks along the slim column of Stiles’ throat. By the time he reaches Stiles’ lips, Stiles is practically panting against him, the smell of slick thick in the air.

“What do you want?” Derek asks, prepared to do whatever Stiles would ask. 

As Stiles catches his breath, he gives Derek a considering look, then laughs, pulling him in for another kiss. 

“What?” 

“The problem is, I want everything,” Stiles murmurs against his lips. He kisses him again, the kisses drugging and deep. “I want you to fuck me. And-” his hand skims down Derek’s still-clothed body, over his ass, and the cleft there. “And I’d also like to explore you.” 

As understanding dawns, Derek laughs himself. He wants to bury his cock inside Stiles and never leave, but Stiles inquisitive fingers are bringing back pleasant memories of his second Alpha lover, the commander for another Alpha’s army. He’d gone to Joseph to learn some new fighting techniques, and in turn, he’d healed, just a little, from Kate. 

Enough that he can only feel anticipation as he pulls back from Stiles and starts removing his clothing as quickly as possible. With a laugh, Stiles sits up and helps him, and they rush through it together, a mess of giggles. 

Once Derek’s naked, he leans back on his hand, and then, the desirous look on Stiles’ face deciding it for him, he turns around to his hands and knees, presenting his ass for Stiles like an Omega might. 

Or like a person who just really likes the position might, he corrects himself. 

Stiles’ fingers are light and reverent over his cheeks. “I’ll need the oil, yes? If I’m to- but can I do what you do?”

Derek looks back at him, letting his head rest on his arms while keeping his hips up. “What do you mean?” 

“When you...lick me there. Can I? To you?” Stiles’ face is all innocent anticipation and Derek groans. 

“Yes, yes, you can, if you want, love, you can. But if you want to start with just stretching me, that's okay too.” 

Stiles spreads his cheeks, his thumb rubbing over Derek’s rim. It’s been a long time since anyone has done this to Derek, and he can feel himself tense up. Stiles lets out a soothing shooshing sound. “You’re so tight. Much tighter than I, and I know you work me open. A cock fits here?” 

“Aye,” Derek says with a strangled laugh. 

“An Alpha one? I mean, I know mine probably would, but…” 

Derek turns, again, and reaches out for Stiles’ knee, the closest he can get. “You’d feel amazing, no matter your size, Stiles.” 

“Really?” Stiles blushes, looking absurdly pleased with the comment. 

“Aye.” 

Stiles’ thumb presses at Derek’s rim again. “But maybe just my fingers for now.” 

“Whatever you want,” Derek manages, already feeling pleasure shoot down to his toes. He lets his head rest down again, closing his eyes and letting himself feel. 

Stiles is so tentative at first, which makes Derek’s heart turn over in his chest. There’s a rustling, and then Stiles’ oil-covered finger is rubbing over his hole. He lets out a sigh, and tries to force himself to relax, but the task is much easier when Stiles’ other hand massages over his lower back, and his sweet lips press a kiss to his spine. Any memory he has of his other lovers, good or bad, flies away in the face of Stiles’ sweetness. Stiles is his mate. He’ll never have another, and he’s the only one that matters. 

With that knowledge wrapped around his heart, he relaxes, lets Stiles push his finger in. “Run around my rim,” he says when Stiles hesitates. 

The stretching feels amazing, making Derek want to flex his toes with happiness. “Yes, just like that.” 

With small assurances and directions, he talks Stiles through stretching him up to two fingers. The feeling of Stiles moving his fingers inside him is so good it makes Derek want to weep. And then, unknowingly, Stiles finds that special spot inside him, and he keens into the bedspread, fisting the blankets in his hands. Shocked, Stiles pulls out, but Derek is quick to give him reassurance. 

All the while, Stiles murmurs encouragement, love words that never stop spilling from his lips. After a moment’s hesitation at Derek’s enthusiastic response, he continues, finding the spot again and teasing his fingers over it. 

When Derek feels like he’s about to explode, he leans up to circle his fingers around the base of his cock and hold off his orgasm. “O-okay,” he manages, shakily pushing himself up to his knees again. 

Stiles’s face is flushed with power and excitement, and Derek knows in his heart that they’ll be enjoying this for many years to come. He doesn’t care how big or small Stiles is, he can’t wait to bend over for him and show him what it’s like. 

But, for now, Stiles had wanted something else at the beginning of this, and Derek’s more than happy to oblige. They settle back together, Stiles on his back, Derek covering him, joined at their mouths. Stiles’ hands clutch at his back even as Derek takes himself in hand and lines himself up where Stiles is hot and dripping. 

Sliding inside is wondrous, and once Derek is fully seated, he has to take a moment, his face buried in Stiles’ neck, just breathing lest he explode immediately. “You feel so good,” he mutters. 

“You make that sound like an accusation, my lord.” 

Derek snorts, biting at Stiles’ neck in retaliation. Stiles’ legs come up, wrapping around his hips, squirming against their prolonged inaction. “Want me to move, love?” 

“You know I do.” Stiles sounds sweetly frustrated, and Derek can’t help but withdraw the tiniest bit, just to grind into Stiles in slow motions. 

“Derek!” His fingers claw at Derek’s back to encourage him to move, and he sucks a mark under Derek’s ear. “Derek, move! You torture me!” 

Grinning, Derek pulls back, only to his full length once more into Stiles’ tight heat. Stiles moans, rocking his hips against Derek, and just like that, they’re off, racing toward a finish they both want and yet both want to keep from happening. 

Stiles’ eyes close against his impending orgasm, as if he’s clawing to fight it off and barely succeeding. Growling, Derek feels his knot growing, catching on Stiles’ rim yet not staying, and that’s when Stiles’ starts whimpering. 

Derek hesitates, and Stiles’ eyes pop open. “Keep going!” 

Derek’s not sure if anyone else in the keep heard that. Hopefully they all cleared out when they saw Derek head upstairs. But Derek sure as hell heard it, and he heeds his mates command, fucking into him hard, pressing his knot against Stiles’ own special place until it finally is big enough to stay. With another shout, Stiles comes between them, his long limbs wrapping around Derek and holding him closely. 

Despite that, Derek’s not quite there, and he continues to grind into Stiles, loving the feeling of Stiles squeezing down on his knot again and again. He’s so caught up that he doesn’t even notice when one of Stiles’ hand moves, until his slick fingers are prodding at Derek’s hole again. Already an expert somehow, he nails the spot he found before, and Derek groans, biting down on Stiles’ mating bite and spilling inside him. He seems to come and come, filling Stiles full to brimming, breeding him well, his Alpha brain tells him. 

He’s not sure how long he comes, but when his brain starts to clear, he realizes he’s been crushing Stiles, and he grunts, moving them to their sides so Stiles can breathe. 

“That was really good,” Stiles murmurs, his voice hoarse. “We should do that again sometime. A lot.” 

Derek laughs, bringing Stiles’ head to his neck and wrapping him up in his arms. “I agree.” 

 

Derek leaves Stiles resting - sex and magic will drain one, to be sure - and attempts to go back to his afternoon plans. The knowing looks he keeps getting make him alternate between pride and embarrassment, though. He hasn’t bathed, and he knows he smells like Stiles and sex, but the rest of the keep isn’t even being subtle, he swears. 

He’s just about to shout at some poor chambermaid who had simply asked if he wished for something to refresh himself - not her fault, she can’t know she’s the third chambermaid to do so in five minutes - when Boyd and Scott run up to find him. 

“There are riders approaching, Hale. Argent colors.” 

Derek’s entire body freezes, and he stays that way for approximately three seconds before he starts barking orders. “Scott, grab four men and protect Stiles in the keep. She will  _ not _ take him.” He doesn’t wait to see if his orders are followed. “Raise the portcullis and make sure everyone is in from the lower fields. I want everyone along the walls, the best archers first. They should have arrows trained at her heart the moment she comes into view.” 

Everyone scrambles around him as he strides toward the east tower connected to the battlements, where the best lookout for the road is. He takes the stairs two at a time, Boyd hot on his heels. 

“She wouldn’t be this obvious, Hale,” Boyd calls from behind him. 

“None of us truly understand her mind,” he growls, hand on his pommel even as he reaches the lookout. The horses are still a mile or more away, two knights in Argent colors to be sure. He frowns. Kate rarely liked to ride herself for long journeys, preferring a carriage. This party has just two horses and no other guards. 

“I don’t like this.” 

“Boyd, my friend, neither do I. But unless they’re aggressive against us, we’ll have no standing to explain ourselves to the king.” 

“How about ‘our bow slipped and shot through her black heart’ for standing?” 

Derek gives a tight laugh that relaxes him slightly, relieved as always to have his best soldier for this fight. And with Scott protecting Stiles, he can put his mind to other worries. 

As if on cue, Stiles’ scent hits his nose about five seconds before his voice reaches him. Derek whirls, enraged. 

Stiles is barely dressed, still tying his pants as he joins Derek at the lookout. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Stiles grins. “Couldn’t let you play with the toy all alone, could I?” But his eyes are sober, and he pulls at Derek’s tunic, angling their bodies away from their audience. “Do you think I’d sit idly by in the keep, twiddling my thumbs, when the woman who killed my father, stole my home, drugged me, and  _ hurt my mate _ just waltzed up to our walls?” 

The Spark is making Stiles eyes glow, and in that moment, Derek can deny him nothing. “You’re drained.” 

“She doesn’t know that. Besides, I’m feeling rather lively.” Stiles rolls on the balls of his feet, glaring out at the incoming riders. When he turns back to Derek, he actually winks. “I think the sex helped.” 

Someone - Derek’s not sure if it’s Scott or Boyd - snorts behind him, but Derek just rolls his eyes. “Still, that armor is feeble. At least let me protect you with my body.” He lowers his voice, resting their foreheads together. “Please.” 

Stiles holds his gaze for a moment, then nods slowly, letting Derek stand in front of him, blocking him from getting hit by stray arrows. 

From another lookout window, Boyd says, “They’re carrying the king’s symbol.” 

Derek squints, then verifies Boyd’s statement. Still shielding most of his body, he lets Stiles see, too. Stiles still at his side. “You don’t think the king sent for me, do you?” 

“I don’t think the king knows of you, and that’s a good thing. You’re not leaving your home, Stiles, I promise you.” Derek turns, kissing him fiercely on the forehead.

Everything, everyone is tense. Inside the keep, barely a sound registers, as if the whole populace is holding their breath at once. 

When the riders draw close, the knight in front, the one that Derek thinks is Kate, because of her size and shape, draws off her helmet. Derek’s eyebrows furrow. It’s not Kate, and neither is the man beside her when he reveals himself, too. 

The man calls up to the battlements. “I would speak with the Alpha Lord of this keep.” 

Derek moves out of the protection of the tower and onto the battlements, revealing himself. “I am Lord Derek Hale, the Alpha Lord of this keep. Everyone and everything you see here are under my protection.” 

The man quirks an eyebrow, even as the woman keeps looking around curiously. “We’ve been sent by the king to determine the validity of the Hale claim here.”

“The king sent Argents to judge the validity? How impartial.” 

The man smirks in acknowledgement, and gives a small nod at Derek's sarcasm. “Aye, seems so, doesn’t it? What say you let us in, and we can discuss it. We come under the flag of the king, unguarded. We mean you no harm.” 

“What are you called?” 

“My name is Lord Christopher Argent, and this is my daughter, Lady Allison Argent. If you want to send someone to look at our orders, sealed by the king?” The man, indeed, holds out a sealed letter.  


“I’ll look at them myself. Let down the portcullis,” Derek calls, turning back to the tower where Stiles waits, quivering. He’s not sure if it’s from fury or fear. 

Once he’s out of sight of the Argents, he takes Stiles into his arms. “I’ve heard of these Argents. They don’t - they wear the Argent colors but they’re not closely associated with Kate and her father, the Alpha Lord of the Argent lands. I’m not saying we should trust them, but…” 

“But we can at least let them in, even if we stay on our guard,” Stiles finishes, giving a small nod. “I accept, Derek, but I won’t be stashed away.” 

Derek takes Stiles hand in his, twining their fingers together. “Forgive me. When I heard Argent, I ran on instincts, and my instincts, for now and forever, will always be your protection first.” 

Stiles tips his head up, brushing their lips together. “Just as long as your brain can overrule your instincts, I suppose I accept, my Lord.” 

Smiling a little, Derek kisses Stiles back, then, his hand firmly in Stiles’ grip, sets off down the stairs to meet their visitors, and whatever trouble they may bring.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm hoping to wrap up this story before June 16th. I leave June 17th for grad school, and I'll be there for awhile, and then I'll be home doing my final exam for grad school. 
> 
> If I'm not finished by June 16th, we'll all have to brace ourselves for a summer hiatus until mid August.


	14. Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles deal with their visitors. 
> 
> CW: Stiles has a panic attack in this chapter. I added a tag for Anxiety Attacks.

Stiles turns around when he hears Derek enter the Alpha bed chamber. He takes a small moment to enjoy the look of surprise on Derek’s face, even with how much he finds the formal skirts an Omega is supposed to wear annoying. He's wearing them purely for the sake of the Argents currently occupied by Boyd and Scott in the main hall before dinner.  


“I guess I pull it off?” Stiles says, trying for a chipper smile but knowing it looks sardonic. 

Derek gives a short nod, his eyes traveling over Stiles’ body. When he reaches Stiles’ face, though, he frowns, just a little. “I don’t like that you’re forced to wear these garments for propriety.” 

Stiles settles his hands on his hips. “Well, that makes two of us, then.” 

“I’m struggling against my baser instincts to tell you how good you look, though.” 

With a laugh, Stiles steps forward, and into Derek’s arms. “Maybe hearing that will ease my annoyance with wearing it.” He tips his face up, as if waiting. 

“You look…” Derek’s lips slide over Stiles’ cheek, and then he’s whispering, low and hot in Stiles’ ear, “I’d like to push you against the wall and fuck you just like this.” 

Stiles breathes in quickly, squirming because he can feel his slick starting to form and his undergarments in the skirts will not prove adequate for catching it. He runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, then tugs, just a little. “Later, my lord. Remember that for later.” 

Derek places a kiss on his tunic, directly above his mating scar, and Stiles shudders just a little. “They’re going to attempt to pull you aside to question you alone, one or both of them. Is that something you want, or do you want me to head them off?” 

The thought of being stuck alone in a room with a couple of Argents makes him shudder for altogether a different reason, but he shakes his head. “It will be better for you - for us - if I talk to them. Tell them what I know. Whether they choose to listen to me…” 

Derek hugs him tightly, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I’ve never met them, only heard...rumors of them. They were cast out before my time at court, and then I was traveling with Peter, defending Hale lands and our country from the Vancs. Lord Christopher curried favor with the new king, and he didn’t have to rejoin his family to do so. I don’t know where the king stands on the feud between the Hales and the Argents.” 

Pulling back, Stiles draws flame to his finger tip and lets it sit there - the latest trick Lydia's taught him. “What of this? What do you advise I tell them?” 

“Something tells me that the less people know about your abilities, the better.” 

Stiles lets a small smirk tip up his lips. “Better for a surprise advantage.” 

Derek’s returning grin is bright and vicious. “Exactly.” 

“So…” Winking out the flame, Stiles takes Derek’s hand and heads for the door. “We must convince these...separate Argents that your claim on this castle is valid, all while I keep my magic a secret, while staying on guard against Argent  _ or  _ Vanc attack, and on top of everything, we’re still searching for a traitor.” 

Derek’s face settles into lines of worry. “That about sums it up, yes.” 

Using Derek’s worry as a temporary distraction, he takes him by surprise and pushes him against the door, kissing him with everything he has. “Good thing you have me, then.” 

Derek laughs, a short sound still fraught with worry, when Stiles pulls back. He sweeps his hand through Stiles’ hair. “That I do, love.” 

 

It turns out Stiles has to wait through an excruciatingly awkward, stilted, and boring dinner before either of the Argents make a move to corner him. He says a little prayer of thanks that it’s the younger one, Lady Allison, that approaches him as he gives orders to Erica to see to the comfort of their guests. 

“Mi’lady,” Stiles says with a respectful nod of his head.

“Mi’lord. I was wondering if you might give me a tour of your home.” Lady Allison offers her arm, and Stiles takes it. 

Stiles gives a little signal to Scott. “You’ll not mind, of course, if my guard accompanies us?” 

Allison gives a half nod before looking up at Scott and seeming to stop short. She recovers quickly though, leading Stiles away from the main hall, like a wolf might separate their prey from the herd. 

At least, that’s what Stiles wants her to think is happening. In reality, he’s doing all the shepherding as he answers her carefully conceived questions with equally careful answers. He takes them through the winding keep hallways and tunnels.   


“Your father was the Alpha Lord here.” 

“Yes, mi’lady. And his father before him. You can check the peerage.” It’s an impossibly snobby thing to say, but Allison looks slightly rebuffed as Stiles had intended. “Of course, I couldn’t inherit, being an Omega. I’m sure my father hoped to secure an heir before his untimely death. He was still a fit man, prime age, after all. He could have remarried.” Stiles pretends to let out a laugh. “Not that we’ll ever know, will we? God rest his soul.” 

“God rest his soul,” Allison murmurs, crossing herself.

The interview continues to go exactly how Stiles intends it to. As his side, Scott almost looks sorry for the other Beta, though he nudges Stiles from time to time in what Stiles supposes is encouragement. 

Really, things just go much smoother when people let  _ him _ do the talking, Stiles decides. 

Even Scott looks startled when Stiles pulls up short at the end of a hallway. Stiles wants to laugh; surely Scott had realized where they were heading. 

Allison peers into the darkness beyond their torch light - there’s no reason to keep it lit down here anymore, after all - shivering a little. “And what part of the keep is this, mi’lord?” 

Stiles lights one of the wall sconces, illuminating his cell. “This is where your aunt kept me prisoner for nine years before Lord Hale rescued me.” 

He says it firmly, and he’s extremely proud that his voice doesn’t waver. Instead, the hard words produce the intended effect on Allison - she stiffens, not bothering to school her face away from horror. She steps forward, opening the cell door and walking inside, taking its measure. 

Finally, she looks up at him. “I have never enjoyed sharing blood with her,” she says fiercely. “Never more so than now. This is beyond the pale, this is inhumane…” 

Sensing her vulnerability, Stiles decides to twist the knife. “No less inhumane than killing a motherless Omega’s only parent.” 

Her gaze matches his swiftly. “You know this to be true?” 

Stiles holds her gaze until she breaks, looking away. Finally, he admits, “No. Just rumors.” 

Allison shakes her head. “Likely rumors, though.” 

“I think you’ve made your point, Stiles,” Scott says softly into the relative darkness, and Stiles starts, having almost forgotten he has had an audience for all of this. 

When he turns to look at Scott, though, Scott’s staring at Allison with a look - a look he’s seen Derek give _him._ _Oh, dear friend. Welcome,_ Stiles thinks sarcastically. 

He’d be happier, of course, if Scott’s mate didn’t come from the same line as Kate, though. 

“Do you require anything else of me?” Stiles asks, snapping both of their attentions back to himself. “I trust you have enough to make a report to your father?” 

Allison nods, then hesitates. “Stiles- Master Stilinski- you said Master Hale rescued you. Rumors have reached the court that he- that he intentionally compromised you. Ruined you. That the king needs to marry you off to someone who will protect you.” 

A high blush tinges Stiles’ cheeks, anxiety thrumming through his veins at the thought that people have been discussing  _ such things _ about  _ him _ at court. His vision narrows even further at the implication that he could be taken away from his  _ mate. _ Panic completely overwhelms him. Both Allison’s and Scott’s noses wrinkle - he must be putting off the distressed Omega smell, he realizes. He tries to calm himself, but the anxiety came on so quickly that he feels lightheaded. With a heavy thunk that hurts his ass even through the blanket-like skirts, he sits down on the stairs to the dungeon and closes his eyes, trying to come back to himself. 

When he eventually lets sights and sounds in from the world outside his head, outside his panic, he can see that Allison and Scott are both kneeling in front of him, looking incredibly worried. He gives them what he’s sure is a wan smile, reaching for the stair beneath him to push himself up. “I’m okay.”

He clutches at the wall, still feeling dizzy in a way he hasn’t felt since he was...since he was back down here, he realizes. Obviously, it’s proximity to his own personal hell that’s affecting him so much. “No one’s taking me from Derek.” 

Allison gives a quick nod. “Of course. I’ll- I’ll make sure to tell my father that. Just, can we get you some water, milord?” 

Stiles turns, looking up the stairs. The height has never seemed greater, not even when Derek first removed him. Then again, he’d had a pleasant ride in his mate’s arms in that instance. “No, I’m fine. Scott, tell Derek that I’m going to bed.” 

Without another look back, he begins the long trudge up. 

 

He’s not surprised when the door bursts open not ten minutes after he’d gotten to their bedroom. Nor is he surprised that the visitor is none other than an extremely angry - and anxious - Derek. 

“I could- Scott told me you were fine but I could smell your distress all over him.” His hand is resting on his sword, as if there are still enemies to vanquish in their bedroom. “What did she do to you?” 

Stiles, who’d been sitting at the dressing table, looking in the hand mirror his mother had left him along with a handful of other possessions that Melissa had kept hidden away for him, looks up, tired. “I’m fine. Just- Allison said that...that it could be a possibility that the king would take me away from you? Marry me off to someone else?” 

He’d imagined the manor being taken from Derek. He’d even imagined never being able to get his revenge on Kate, had been preparing himself for that disappointment. He’d never considered that he might have to part from Derek. It had been so easy to forget exactly how little power he actually had as an Omega in the world, what with the respect Derek gave him, the confidence he had in Stiles. 

Derek swiftly crosses the room, but when he pulls Stiles into his arms, he’s so, so gentle. “No one will ever separate us.” 

“But if the king orders it-” 

“There are other kings to serve in this world. We’d move east, maybe, to Nivalis.” He pulls Stiles tightly into his arms. “There is no king, no emperor, no power on this earth that can take me from you.” 

“Der…” Some of that confidence, that power returns to Stiles’ heart. “I wouldn’t let them, anyway,” he replies fiercely. 

Pulling at Derek’s hair, tugging him closer, he slots his mouth over Derek’s and kisses him with every last bit of feeling he can muster in his body. Groaning, Derek tightens his arms around Stiles, walking him gently back until his spine hits the wall. 

“You going to make good on your promise from earlier? Lift up my skirts and fuck me against this wall? Mark me up so every person on this manor knows who I belong to?” 

Derek snarls, drowning Stiles’ words with another kiss. Stiles can feel his heart rabbiting against his rib cage even as Derek’s fingers find his ass and pull him against his hard cock. He feels slightly lightheaded again, but this time it’s all because of the pleasure rushing through his veins. He can already feel his slick dripping down his thighs, and this insane notion, one that reminds him of being in heat, flicks through his brain that if he doesn’t get Derek’s cock inside him he’s going to  _ die. _

Derek seems equally possessed. He has to lean one hand into the wall as the other fumbles with the ties of his pants at his waist. Stiles would help him but it’s way more important that he curl his fingers into Derek’s hair and pull him close for another kiss. Derek grunts against his lips as their tongues slide together, then makes a deep noise of satisfaction when he finally frees himself, his hot length sliding against Stiles’ thigh. His body crowds Stiles against the wall, but instead of feeling trapped, Stiles revels in the feeling of Derek against him. 

“C’mon Der-” Stiles whispers against his mate’s ear. 

With a growl, Derek pushes Stiles’ skirts up around his hips, pulling down and tossing aside his thin undergarment. Beaming with satisfaction as the smell of Stiles' slick fills the air, he draws Stiles’ legs up to circle his waist. He slips a hand down, resting on Stiles’ thigh, and pauses, his breath heaving, his eyes meeting Stiles’. “Yes?” 

“Yes, please, yes-” 

With a cursory check to see if he’s slick enough - and yes, yes he is, god Derek’s fingers feel so good in him - Derek slides inside Stiles’ hole, letting gravity sink Stiles down until he’s stuffed full with Derek’s cock. They both shudder when Derek bottoms out, Derek steadying himself with one hand on Stiles’ hip and the other on the wall. Sighing happily, Stiles leans forward - which sets off all sorts of interesting sparks inside his body - and presses a kiss to Derek’s lips. 

He rolls his hips, trying to goad Derek into action. With a laugh, Derek gives him a look like he should regret his actions, then begins to fuck him. Now everything inside lights up, and it’s all Stiles can do to hold on for dear life and take it. Pleasure licks through his fingers and toes, akin to the way he can feel his power flow through him when he throws a lightning bolt or a fireball. He understands now exactly why he glowed during his first heat. This, right now, feels as primal as when he uses his magic. Like this connection between him and Derek is as ancient as the Spark itself. 

Derek slams his knot into Stiles’ hole, and Stiles’ vision goes white with pleasure as his orgasm takes him. He comes messily against his rucked up skirts even as Derek’s knot expands, stretching his rim and rubbing continually over that special place inside him. “Der, Der, Der,” he chants softly to Derek’s continued thrusts, his name a benediction, a prayer. 

Just when he thinks he can stand no more, that he’s become too sensitive, Derek comes, filling him to brimming, shouting against Stiles’ neck. He collapses Stiles against the wall as they catch their breath, then grunts. “Hang on.” 

Derek’s knot continues to rub inside of him as Derek lifts him by the asscheeks and carries them to the bed. By the time they’re there, Derek’s moaning, and Stiles can’t help but grip tightly at his knot, the movement from wall to bed putting him right to the edge. The second time he comes, it’s more like a little pop of pleasure, but he still feels the jolts of it course through his system as Derek continues to pour inside of him. 

Derek manages to settle them on their sides on the bed, their legs tangled together. Between the two of them, they manage to get the rest of their clothes off, so it’s just the scent of sweat and sex-slicked skin. The smell of  _ them. _

Stiles surprises himself by drifting off, when just moments ago everything was frantic need. All he knows is one second he’s got his face buried in Derek’s throat, where his scent is most prominent and comforting, and the next second he’s blinking awake as Derek slowly cleans him with a warm washcloth. 

“I know you hate to go to sleep sticky,” Derek murmurs, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. 

“Our guests-” Stiles protests, trying to push himself up.

Derek eases back down with him, tossing the washcloth in the pile with their other clothes. “Erica and Isaac and Scott are taking care of them. And keeping an eye on them. And whatever verdict they have for us, it can wait until we’ve rested.” 

Stiles grips Derek’s hand. “Together, right?” 

Derek smiles, leaning forward to brush his lips over Stiles’ brow. “Together always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, just letting you know there might not be an update next week! I have a choir concert complete with tech rehearsal. So just prepare yourselves for that eventuality, although it may also happen. Who knows! That's the fun. :D


	15. Main Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot progresses, and so does the smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added "dildos" as a tag. :D
> 
> Also I'll admit I didn't do a quite as thorough job with proofreading. If there are super glaring errors, let me know, but I'm sure I'll catch them on later read throughs. Apologies in advance!

Derek had intended just to nip down to the main hall for a plate of cheese and bread to break Stiles’ fast before he headed out for early training. Instead, he’s caught by both Christopher and Allison Argent, eating alone at the table. He watches their eyes go to his bare feet, then travel up his body to his face, and he knows he’s blushing. At least he took the time to put on his pants and tunic. 

Walking to them with what he hopes is careful nonchalance, he gives perfunctory nods of greeting to both of the knights. “I hope your chambers were acceptable. I did not realize you would be up so early, or I would have joined you.” 

Christopher gives a nod back, just as succinct. “I must be on the road as quickly as possible if I hope to make it to the king today.” 

Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “You- you’re done? Your report- you’ve made a decision?” 

“I’ve come to a recommendation. The king will make the ultimate decision, Lord Hale. Meanwhile, you will allow my daughter to stay at the keep and continue to monitor and send me reports.” 

Christopher’s tone makes Derek’s skin bristle with irritation, but despite being thrown out of his family, Christopher has made a name for himself with the king. It makes him far more powerful than Derek can begin to imagine. His embarrassment increases tenfold, showing up half clothed, his Omega the only thing on his mind, in front of this powerful man. He hates feeling like a child. 

“May I ask what recommendation you are planning on making, my lord?” Forcing his hands to work without shaking, he starts to load a trencher with what he knows to be Stiles’ favorites. 

“That what Kate did to Stiles was inhumane, and she should be forced to forfeit her claim to this keep as punishment.” Allison finally speaks, her voice low and full of emotion. 

Derek can think of a dozen other ways he’d rather see Kate punished, but he knows when to hold his tongue. He gives a curt nod at the decision instead. 

“Of course, you should be prepared to travel soon. The king likes to take the true measure of a man in person, not from reports. He’ll send a messenger if so.” 

Derek reaches for the pommel of his sword, a defensive reflex, but of course he’s not wearing it. “And what, I leave Stiles here, alone?“ The promise he’d made to Stiles last night burns brightly in his mind.  _ Together, always. _

Christopher arches a brow. “You will come and go at the leisure of the king, Lord Hale.” 

“It’s not unusual for an Alpha Lord to bring his Omega to court,” murmurs Allison. She glances at her father, then back down at her plate, blushing. 

Derek nods again, unable to form any words that could be considered civil. He finishes gathering food for Stiles, taking a calming breath as he does so. Finally, he’s able to turn back to Christopher. “I wish you safe travels, Lord Argent. May the journey be pleasantly dull.” 

Christopher nods in acknowledgement, a faint look of appreciation appearing on his face. 

With a final nod at Allison, Derek takes his leave of them. 

 

Derek has trouble dealing with the fierce possessiveness he feels at the thought of Stiles leaving the grounds of the manor. Here, even when he visits Lydia, he’s within minutes of safety - and even then, he’s with a powerful witch, and he’s even more powerful himself. Though Derek always worries about Stiles, at least here, he can be sure of Stiles’ safety. 

The minute they step off their lands, though, they’ll be vulnerable in a way Stiles hasn’t been since he was kidnapped by Kate’s goon. They won’t be able to take a large force with them, not when Derek’s not entirely satisfied with the training of the keep’s troops so far. He’ll have to divide his soldiers, or risk losing the keep in his absence. 

He doesn’t like the idea, not one bit. It smolders inside of him, a burning thing, even as he looks down at Stiles’ sweet, sleeping face. He sets the trencher aside and just observes his mate. It’s not long, though, before that cute perky nose is twitching, and Stiles’ eyes slip open. 

Stiles groans, rubbing at his face, then starts when he opens his eyes to Derek looming over him. It is, perhaps, a little creepy of Derek, and he sits on the bed beside Stiles instead. 

“S’morning?” Stiles asks, even though he can see the light streaming in from a small slit in the curtain. 

“Aye.” Gently, Derek sweeps over one of the sleep lines on Stiles’ face, then pushes his bangs back and kisses him on the forehead. Stiles lets out a happy little noise, tipping his head up and capturing Derek’s lips instead. 

“Tell me what’s wrong. Ooo, food!” Stiles leans over to grab the trencher as Derek laughs, delighting in his mate. “Okay, ‘ell me wh-us wrong,” Stiles says again around a mouthful of bread.

“How do you know something’s wrong?” 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I can smell it all over you.” 

Derek scrubs a hand over his face, even as Stiles pats the bed beside him, and offers him bread and cheese. Derek relents, and they make themselves comfortable against the backboard. Slowly, he tells Stiles of his embarrassment, of Christopher’s decision, of the news that he - possibly they - must travel soon. 

Stiles listens, though he breaks into Derek’s narrative with random questions that show his quick mind. When Derek finally winds down, explaining the fierce possessiveness and fear for Stiles’ safety, though, Stiles pins him with a look. He snaps his fingers, and lightning crackles from the tip, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. “I’m not defenseless.” 

Derek nods, solemn. “I don’t think I can make my heart feel any other way, Stiles. I know it’s- it’s old fashioned, stubbornly so. I won’t stop you - and if the king requests, I can’t. But I just- I just wanted to tell you. I understand the logic of it. My logic isn’t what wants to do the thinking right now.” 

Flicking the lightning away, Stiles runs his hand down Derek’s arm until their fingers are linked. “I appreciate that. If anything happened to you…” Stiles takes a deep breath, blowing it out, tightening their fingers further. “I would rain hellfire down on this land.” 

He looks up, his eyes full of mirth. “Not very logical of me, is it?” 

Derek can’t resist Stiles when he has that look in his eyes, and before he’s given it another thought, he’s pressed their mouths together again, as if words no longer work for the both of them. 

“We’re ridiculous,” Stiles says with a laugh when Derek’s pulled back. 

“Aye, and I need to go to the practice field or Boyd will think me dead.” 

“And I’ve a meeting with Lydia.”

“You’re feeling better?” 

Stiles blushes, pushing the blanket from his bare legs. “Nothing a little water won’t fix, my lord.” 

Derek coughs, then laughs, realizing they’ve miscommunicated. “I meant about your dizzy spell.” 

Stiles pauses with his washcloth, looking back at Derek. “Who told you that?” he asks carefully. 

Derek takes the washcloth from him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he moves it down Stiles’ body himself. He avoids Stiles’ cock, but skirts close enough to it that it begins to perk. “Scott, of course.” 

“Traitor,” Stiles mutters under his breath. He sighs as Derek continues, though, melting against Derek, his back pressed against Derek’s front. “If you’ll recall, you fucked me against the wall, dizzy spell be damned. I’m fine.” 

“Touche.” Derek kisses up his neck, pausing to get his fill of Stiles’ sweet cinnamon scent. Somehow, every day, Stiles smells  _ more _ right than the day before. Riper, even. Derek thinks it’s a by-product of how intertwined their scents have become. 

“Then again, if you fear I’m too tired, mayhap I should be the one to fuck you tonight. You mentioned some sort of...device?” 

Derek chokes, blushing, immediately turned on at the thought of Stiles pushing the deliciously smooth bone cock inside him. “That- that’s certainly a possibility.” 

Stiles grins wickedly, and Derek’s heart flip-flops in his chest. He’s so impossibly lost in his love for Stiles it’s ridiculous. 

He takes a deep breath, refocusing himself. “Still. Keep my mate safe.” 

Stiles laughs, turning to give Derek a more thorough kiss. “Keep  _ my _ mate safe.” 

Though it’s torture, Derek leaves Stiles behind in their bed chamber with a final kiss on his forehead. 

 

With a thud, Boyd’s blow lands on his side. Derek groans, resisting clutching at it, sure it will bruise even through the padded practice fabric. 

“You’re distracted,” Boyd says, his grin flashing. 

They’re supposed to be demonstrating a technique for the soldiers. But Boyd’s not incorrect: he  _ is _ distracted, his gaze sliding to the woods more often than is necessary. 

With a focusing breath, Derek beckons Boyd to come at him again, then demonstrates the throwing technique he’d wanted to earlier. 

As he’s lifting Boyd up from the ground, dusting him off, he orders the soldiers to practice. Boyd takes the opportunity to poke him directly in his bruised side. “He’s not due back for another hour. You know their schedule.” 

Derek growls, perhaps dusting Boyd off a little more firmly than he should. 

“Christ, Hale, if you’re like this now, what’re you going to be like when he’s pupped? Or is he already?” Boyd says it low, for their ears only. 

The thought stops Derek dead in his tracks. Suddenly his mind is racing from one image to the next: Stiles, his belly round and full; Stiles, nursing their first born in the bed, looking up at Derek; Stiles, chasing the little one around the courtyard, training them in their Spark from an early age, if an Omega. 

Boyd laughs, punching him lightly in the arm. “Are you seriously just considering this for the first time? You spent a  _ heat _ with him.” 

Derek knows his face is flaming red. “That’s no way to talk about the Omega of the manor.” 

Boyd rolls his eyes. “He’s my friend as much as he is your mate. I doubt he’d quibble over propriety now.” 

Derek sighs. “You’re right.” He pauses, his hand resting on Boyd’s shoulder. “Still, Boyd, shut up, or I’m putting you on latrine duty.” 

Boyd’s laugh echoes as he turns away to show some soldiers how to properly throw their partners. 

 

“You’re beautiful,” Stiles says with a breathy sigh. He kneels, naked between Derek’s legs. Derek’s equally nude, feels perhaps doubly so in the wake of Stiles’ appreciative gaze. 

Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s hairy caves, to his thighs, where he presses gently down to spread Derek’s legs. Happily, Derek melts under Stiles’ touch. His fingers continue skimming up his body, making his abs twitch a little, and his nipples come to peak when Stiles gives them special attention. He ends his inventory of Derek’s body by kissing him thoroughly, his lithe body pressing into Derek’s. Derek’s eyes linger over the curves of Stiles’ body, his mind brought back to Boyd’s words earlier. It’s impossible to tell; of course Stiles has gained weight in the last few months, because he’s had the opportunity for proper meals, and has been exercising, running with Derek still in the mornings. 

Stiles arches an inquisitive brow at Derek’s prolonged silence. Too hasty in his answer, Derek blurts, “You would tell me, aye? If you’re pregnant.” 

Stiles looks shocked, and then a little thoughtful, his hand leaving Derek’s shoulder to slide over his own belly. It’s obviously something he has not yet considered. But Stiles’ smile is easy, and he leans over to take Derek’s lips again.

“Aye, my lord. I would tell you right away. And perhaps we’ve been blessed, but I don’t think I’ll know for awhile yet.” Thoughtful, Stiles leans back. “I’ll have to ask Melissa. But is this really the conversation you want to be having right now? Or can I continue with this important work.” 

Laughing, relieved, Derek lets his head rest against the pillow. “Please continue.” 

Stiles settles back between his legs, tiptoeing his fingers over them again. “How will this be different from me- from what happens to me?” 

“You need to go slowly. I’m- you’re wonderfully tight, of course, but I’m going to be very much so. It’s been a long time. The more oil the better.” 

Stiles looks fascinated by the pucker between his legs, and Derek tries not to grow self-conscious. Stiles runs his thumb over Derek’s hole, mumbling something - probably nonsense - to himself. He picks up the vial of oil, and generously lubing his fingers, pressing the tip of one tentatively to Derek. 

Derek, for his part, wills himself to relax. It’s easier, watching the engrossed look on Stiles’ face. “Aye, like that,” he says on a little gasp as the tip of Stiles’ finger slips inside. “Stretch the rim.” 

He continues the quiet instructions to Stiles, who looks like he appreciates it, though it doesn’t seem as if he needs them. Stiles’ sole attention - so rarely given to any one thing - is precisely where his fingers are disappearing inside Derek’s body, so it’s jarring when he looks up, his eyes bright with lust. “Do you have, inside you, that spot that I feel inside me?” 

Groaning, Derek nods, reaching down to position Stiles’ fingers where they might graze over it. He’s pushing two fingers inside now, steadily, and the mild burn of his rim feels delicious. The desire licks up through him as he focuses on Stiles’ look of concentration. Suddenly, Stiles swipes over the spot, and Derek stiffens, groaning. “Yes, there-” he says, breathy. 

It’s an evil grin Stiles gives as he returns to the spot again and again, working his fingers - three now - over it as Derek’s cock weeps precum and his knot tries to pop. Derek’s fingers fist into the sheets. He never wants it to end, and yet he wants to come so badly- the conundrum leaves him breathless in a way he hasn’t felt in several years. 

“You’re beautiful,” Stiles repeats, watching his fingers enter Derek’s body. 

“I’m ready,” Derek groans. 

Eyes widening, Stiles lifts the fake cock from the bed and rubs his slick fingers over it. The dildo is a smooth polished bone - a gift from his last lover, who’d picked it up from lands far away. 

He lets out a sigh as he feels the blunt head of the dildo press against him. There’s a slight burning, but it slips past his rim, and then Derek’s just left with a deliciously full feeling as Stiles slides it all the way in. 

“How should I- what now?” Stiles asks, breathless. The scent of his slick is thick in the air. 

“Fuck me how you like to be fucked.” 

Stiles eyes widen at the directive, but then that wicked smile is back. “Aye, my lord.” 

He grips Derek’s hip for leverage, and begins to slide the dildo in and out. He keeps the rhythm unsteady, keeps Derek guessing, and every new motion brings Derek closer to the edge. He wraps a hand around his growing knot, and pleasure zings through his body. 

“That’s it, Der, come for me,” Stiles mutters, sounding out of breath with how hard he’s working the dildo into Derek. The head of it slides continually over that special place inside Derek, but it’s truly watching Stiles’ biceps flex as he works hard that sends Derek flying. 

Squeezing his knot, his cum spills over his cock, his fist, his stomach. Stiles stills, taking him in, looking positively drugged as the smell hits the air. With a groan, he drops the dildo, climbing up Derek to kiss him again and whine. Derek can feel his slick dripping between them. 

With a groan that’s captured in Stiles’ kiss, Derek sweeps up some of his cum and reaches around, pumping his fingers - three of them, right away, this is how ready Stiles is - inside Stiles’ hole. He doesn’t need the extra lube, but something about the primalness of pushing his cum inside Stiles’ body, where it might catch, where their baby will grow and make Stiles big, something about that feeling makes Derek want to get hard all over again. 

It takes precious little time to bring Stiles off, though, and then they’re a panting, sloppy mess, tired and content. Their spend mixes between them, exactly how Derek would have it. 

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck, taking deep breaths even as his heart starts to slow. They spend long, wonderful minutes like that, lost in each other, no words needed in the pleasant silence. 


	16. Supper Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is very tired of feeling anxious...

_And King Isaiah forbade unto his subjects the Omega Spark, lest they fall into the darkness. And his remedy for such aberrations as still existed was to make a pottage of three parts wolfsbane, two parts fennel, and the water of a virgin spring._

“What even is a virgin spring?” Stiles muses, translating the recipe from the old language.

Lydia pauses her sweeping and looks over his shoulder, tapping the word _virgin._ “While the old ones were obsessed - well, still are obsessed - with Omega virginity, I think in this case the best translation is ‘untouched’, as in...out in the wilderness.”

“Huh.” Stiles fingers drum on the table. “And is this what Kate gave me? Wolfsbane and fennel? That’s it?”

“It’s the wolfsbane, that’s it. The fennel just covers up the taste because it’s so strong.”

“And I here I thought the cook was just going through a phase.” Stiles frowns; it’s never a pleasant time, remembering the past.

Lydia pulls a chair over and sits beside him, rubbing a hand over his knee. “It’s my fault that Kate has this knowledge.” She looks down and away, the guilt clear on her face.

Stiles purses his lips. “You said that before, but I don’t see how you could possibly blame yourself-”

“I had- have a reputation, you see, among the Omegas. There are some who...wish to suppress their heats. So they don’t conceive.” She raises her eyebrows, and he nods, understanding what she’s not saying. It’s a dangerous trade, one that could see her hanged by the magistrate.

“She blackmailed you,” he murmurs. As soon as he says it, it slides into place, and everything makes sense, except Lydia’s guilt. “Lydia, she’s as evil as they come. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Omegas protect Omegas,” Lydia quips, her voice hard with disappointment, presumably at herself.

“Lyds-”

“Let me self-flagellate a little more over it, okay Stiles?” She gives him a little fake smile, but the kiss she presses to his forehead as she stands to head back to the fire is warm and comforting.

With a quiet nod, he heads back into the passage, finding his place again.

 _For the Omega Spark is dangerous to all men, so speaketh the King. And he told his subjects that the remedy will help the Omegas bear fruit -_ Stiles wrinkles his nose at pups being called _fruit - because the uncontrolled Spark can be only hurtful, never helpful, to those that Omega are blessed to bear into this world-_

His hand has unconsciously slid to his stomach, his teeth worrying his lower lip. He looks up, watching Lydia near the fire, preparing - well, he’s not actually sure if she’s preparing a potion or some sort of food, and they both tend to smell the same to him.

He _knows_ the book is nonsense, but then again, the suppressant hadn’t been, had it? “This says that Omegas were told not to use their Spark because it could interfere with pregnancy, or hurt the pup.’

Lydia turns from the pot she’s stirring, arching a brow at him. “Written by…”

“Yeah, yeah, by an Alpha scholar who also says the Omega Spark comes from the devil.” Stiles chews his lip, letting his other hand join his first on his stomach. “But what if…”

He trails off, staring at her helplessly, which has her leaving the fire to come sit by him again. “Stiles, are you pregnant?”

“I don’t know!” He flails his hands, standing to pace the small confines of the cottage. “I haven’t had another heat, but that could just be because of the suppressant Kate was feeding me, messing up my system. Really, I wasn’t thinking about it at all but then Derek put it in my head and now I can’t get it out...What if I am? It’s- it’s crazy to think about. I want a pup more than anything in the world, but it’s the worst timing. What if we have to travel to court? I don’t want to have my baby at court, Lydia, I just don’t, I’ve heard awful things about the people there. I want to be here, with Melissa nearby-”

Lydia stands in front of him so that he crashes into her body, but she holds them steady, her hands on his shoulders. When he finally stops, she puts a hand on his chest, over his galloping heart. “Breathe with me, Stiles.”

She draws in a slow breath, then exhales through her mouth slowly. “And again,” she murmurs.

The breathing helps a little, though he still feels like his heart is beating out of his chest. “You’re good at that,” he says, breathy.

She gives him a small smile. “The same sort of attack used to afflict my mother, God rest her soul.” She turns around, pulling various herbs out of her cupboard and mixing them in a small burlap bag. She hands it off to Stiles. “This blend helped her immensely. For tea before bed, or when you wake up, your choice. And if you are-” her eyes slide to Stiles’ waist, “this will not harm the pup. It might even help with morning sickness, if you experience it.”

Grateful, Stiles accepts the bag, then swoops in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you. I feel as if- I feel as if everyone on the manor is on pins and needles, waiting for a message from the king.” Stiles sits again, rubbing his hands over his face. “Is it too much to ask just to be left alone? That’s all we want.”

Lydia sits down, placing a hand on his knee and squeezing. “The Stilinski lands are of little importance, up until the Vancs mobilize, and then our strategic placement makes us invaluable.”

“Aye, I know.” He lets one of his hands drop to hers. “If the king decides our marriage is invalid, Derek says we’ll move to another kingdom.”

“You know that what makes your home isn’t the land, it isn’t the keep, it’s the people, right?”

Stiles sighs. “That’s exactly the problem. I’m going to miss you all.”

“My mother would say you’re borrowing trouble. I always told her I’m here to make the trouble, not borrow it, but I think she’s right in your case. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“That’s what makes it all the more awful. I can’t- I can’t combat that which I don’t know.”

“But that’s precisely it. You _don’t_ know what’s going to happen. And since you don’t...which do you think is a better use of your time, enjoying this relative peace or worrying about it every waking second? And if you are with pup,” her hand slides to his stomach, “if you are, what would be better for them?” She pulls back, smiling as she turns to the bubbling pot. “And besides, mayhap you’ll find an excellent distraction in trying to be normal.”

“Trying being the operative word,” Stiles answers with a wry grin. Still, she has something, he thinks, as he mulls it over in his mind. There’s nothing from here that he can do to sway the king, except, maybe, put down enough roots that he might be swayed.

While he’s distracted, Lydia sets a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. “Eat while you think, Stiles.”

Suddenly hungry, as if the worry had gnawed his stomach clean, Stiles digs in.

 

Because of his studies at the cottage and Derek’s own busy schedule, he doesn’t see his mate until supper that evening. He’s just walking into the main hall when Derek’s scent hits him seconds before Derek himself sweeps him up for a lingering kiss.

“I missed you,” Derek rumbles, a sound for no one’s ears but Stiles’.

Someday, Stiles supposes, he won’t feel this keening loneliness when he’s away from Derek, this feeling as if he’s missing a limb. Today is not that day, for either of them, apparently. “I missed you,” he returns.

Derek takes his arm to accompany him to the table, where seating arrangements have become increasingly awkward. Not because of them, no, but because of the thick tension in the air between Scott and Lady Allison. It’s obvious to the most casual observer that they’re mates, but the problem lies in Scott’s low birth. Stiles wishes he had the power of the king to raise someone above their birth, but unfortunately, he can’t, and they’re stuck, and it makes for a rather surly dinner.

Not that Stiles blames them in the least. Not when he practically feels physical pain at being separated from Derek. No one should be denied their mate just because propriety demands it. Still, their intense looks at each other has made it a bit uncomfortable, especially since Allison sits at Derek’s left, befitting her rank just below Stiles’. The rest of the table is rounded out by Derek’s officers, like Boyd, and also Scott. Because of Scott’s own personal relationship with the Omega of the keep, he’s seated in a more elevated position than he might be were they at court or another more formal lord’s table.

“What of your lessons today, Stiles?” Derek asks, interrupting Stiles’ thoughts while at the same time jerking Allison and Scott from their staring contest.

Stiles smiles at his husband, pleased, preening just a little at his interest. “They went well. Lydia gave me an excellent suggestion.”

Derek’s brows draw together in apprehension, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s mock or real. “Oh?”

“Simply that I need to stop treating life as if I’m in a great standstill right now. We need to continue on, like normal.” Stiles says it with more determination than he feels. “And as such, if I remember correctly, normally, this time of year, we’d be preparing for the summer festival. Am I correct?” He turns to Scott.

“Aye, Stiles, but the villagers haven’t thought- well, we thought we might postpone it this year.”

Stiles sets down his knife, looking his best friend straight in the eyes, wanting to make his intention clear. “Summer pauses for no man, does it not, Scott? So why should we postpone the summer festival just because of the king?”

“Mayhap, Lord Stiles, it’s not the best time-” Allison says gently.

“I haven’t been to the summer festival in nine years, _years,_ Lady Allison, do you remember that?”

Under the table, Derek’s hand slides to his leg, squeezing his thigh in comfort. “We shall plan the summer festival. After all, we’ve yet to celebrate our marriage. I think midsummer would be the perfect time.”

Stiles feels a bit like he’s melting under Derek’s calm acceptance. It steadies him, and he takes a breath, turning to Scott. “I know it may be folly, but I can’t- I can’t keep living like this, on pins and needles, as if the messenger will arrive at any moment. I need to make this - make it all worth it somehow. Do you understand, Scott?” His eyes plead with Scott, even as Derek's’ arm slips fully around him to give him a hug.

The table is quiet for a moment, but then Scott nods.

“Excellent,” Stiles says, something relaxing inside him as the rest of the table acquiesces. From the look Derek is giving them, Stiles imagines they’ll all be attempting to give Stiles the most ‘normal’ experience ever.

It’s probably going to be a disaster, he thinks with a private grin. He can’t be sorry - this disaster is much more his speed than any disaster the king could bring down on him.

 

Sometimes, Derek lingers at the supper table, discussing the next day’s plans with Boyd. Sometimes, Stiles joins him, though most often he spends the last moments before retiring to his room running his own debrief with Erica and Isaac. He’s fairly sure Erica sticks around to accompany Boyd back to his tent each night anyway, so it’s a good time to catch them both and go over the household.

Tonight, though, once supper has been cleared away, Derek rises, holding his arm out for Stiles, and they walk slowly through the main hall and up the stairs together, Stiles chattering about things he’s read - carefully avoiding pregnancy - while Derek maintains near silence.

Derek breaks his silence, though, when they’re safely inside their chamber. “If this is a normal night, my Omega, what would you have me do?”

It’s impossible to resist the low timbre of Derek’s voice, and Stiles feels himself leaning toward Derek to capture his lips. He stops just short of his goal, though, to whisper, “Kiss me.”

Derek sweeps him up, his hand pressing at the small of Stiles’ back to crush them together as their mouths slide together. He walks Stiles backwards to the bed, but doesn’t maneuver him down to the mattress. Instead, once Derek pulls back, Stiles sways in his direction as if drawn by magnetism.

“And is that all, my Omega? One kiss, and then sleep? Is that normal enough for you?” The teasing lilt in Derek’s voice makes Stiles’ heart beat faster, and he can feel himself start to slick.

“You know, my Alpha, there’s something to be said for designing our own traditions.” With a turn and a sweep, Stiles has Derek on his back on the bed - although he knows Derek _let_ him pull off the move. He slides over Derek in a straddle, already feeling his hard cock. “A new normal.”

He’s not quite sure if Derek pulls him down or if he collapses of his own volition, but the important thing is that Derek’s mouth is on his and Derek’s hands are traveling everywhere on his body, pushing off his clothes, stroking, sweeping.

His slick is leaking freely now, and he moans into Derek’s mouth. Suddenly, Derek’s fingers are there, pumping in and out of him. It takes him a moment to realize that Derek has simply parted the split where his pants come together, exposing just his hole to Derek’s fingers. Stiles groans, fisting his fingers in Derek’s tunic and arching back into his fingers.

It’s crazy, but Stiles is already at the edge. Derek’s fingers feel like fire inside him, igniting him, setting his whole body alight. They prod and sweep and stretch him even as they continue to make out.

Stiles isn’t sure how much time they lose to this, but he feels drenched by the time Derek’s fingers slide out. He groans, wanting the stimulation again.

“You’re okay, soon, baby, soon-” Derek promises, sounding breathless, before burying his face in Stiles’ neck and inhaling deeply.

There’s a rustling below him, and then Derek’s cock is seeking entrance, the blunt head stretching Stiles’ hole deliciously. To Stiles’ surprise, Derek lifts at Stiles’ hips, easing him up and sinking him down on his cock all at the same time. Stiles sits astride Derek, full of him, his hands clutching helplessly at Derek’s chest.

“Ride, Stiles,” Derek orders, his eyes intense on Stiles’.

It takes Stiles a minute to settle into a good motion, but then he’s got it, Derek’s cock rubbing over that special spot inside him at just perfectly the right angle. Derek thrusts up from below, his hands tight on Stiles’ hips. From this angle, Derek’s cock stretches him all the more, to say nothing of the knot that’s beginning to form at the base of it. Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head as he feels the knot start to catch on his rim.

“Nngh- Der-”

Derek strokes over his cock through his pants, the friction just on the pleasant edge of pain. “Come for me, Stiles.”

Stiles can’t disobey, clenching down around Derek’s knot, holding it in like a vise even as it expands and locks inside of him. His pants are a mess, but pleasure wracks his body as Derek pours into him.

With a sated hum, Stiles collapses onto Derek’s chest, savoring the feeling of Derek’s hand stroking down his back. “New normal,” he insists.

Derek’s laugh makes his cheek vibrate. “I like it.”

Sighing, happy, content, sure that the mess between and around them can be dealt with later, Stiles lets his eyes close, lost in Derek’s scent.


	17. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short sex scene.
> 
> See author's note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo yay, I'm sick with a headcold AGAIN for the third time in... 6 weeks? 
> 
> So today you're getting a really short, mostly porn update. 
> 
> Also, unfortunately, I'm out of town next week, so more than likely no update on Sunday. I *may* be able to update during the week but the end of the school year has so many varied responsibilities. 
> 
> Until then, I'm sorry for the short update and I'm sorry for no update next week.

A week later, when Derek wakes up, swamped in the scent of Omega slick, he first assumes that Stiles must be going into heat again, meaning he isn’t pregnant. That assumption doesn’t get him very far though, as Stiles’ skin is cool to the touch where it’s uncovered by the blanket or by Derek’s body. Except when he’s in his heat, it seems like Stiles always runs cold, and it’s Derek’s great pleasure to provide him some warmth.

They’re spooned together, Derek’s arm around Stiles waist and hand resting on the soft skin of his stomach, Stiles’ back nestled against Derek’s chest. Derek breathes Stiles’ scent in deeply, strong here at the crook of his neck.

“Der-” Stiles sighs in his sleep, his fingers clutching at the sheets, and it’s little wonder what Stiles is dreaming about.

Derek involuntarily makes a low rumbling sound that’s extremely close to a contented growl, even as he lets his eyes drift shut again.

The next time he wakes, the first thing he becomes aware of is that he’s painfully hard, close to the edge already somehow. His husband isn’t helping matters, squirming under his arm and continually rubbing up against him. “Stiles,” he manages to choke out, moving the heavy weight of his own arm so Stiles can get up.

He does, his face flushed, but from embarrassment, not heat. “I just- I’ll be right back, I just have to pee, but that whole thing,” Stiles gestures to Derek’s dick, and to the wet spot his slick made on the sheets, “I want to come back to that, okay? Hold that thought.”

Shocked awake, then greatly amused by his mate’s energy and antics, Derek stretches out on his back, bringing his hands up behind his head, his cock standing proud in the air. He’s still like that when Stiles comes back, hesitating in the doorway, taking in the sight on the bed.

Derek cocks an eyebrow in invitation, and Stiles smiles, hesitation gone as he saunters over to the bed. “You look proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud of the mate I’ve gotten.” When Stiles gets close enough, Derek’s hand whips out, quick as lightning, and pulls Stiles down into his lap. Stiles laughs, a full, hearty chuckle that’s extinguished only when Derek slides their lips together.

“And did you sleep well, my lord?” Stiles asks, breathless, when they break apart.

“Oh, aye.” Derek sneaks his hand down Stiles’ back and to the cleft between his legs where he’s dripping slick freely. “Your slick scent kept me up, though. Were you having pleasant dreams?”

Stiles grinds against his fingers, his arm going around Derek’s neck. “Most pleasant,” he says with a sigh as Derek slips three fingers inside him. “I dreamt you fucked me in my sleep.”

Derek groans, sliding over his cock with Stiles’ slick before spearing into him in one slick motion that makes them both sigh. “I could have.” He bites down on Stiles’ collar bone, just savoring the warm, wet feeling of Stiles surrounding him. “If I knew you were okay with it.”

Stiles captures his mouth, rolling his hips to grind down on Derek’s cock. “I’d be okay with it. Makes me want to come, just thinking about it. About you knotting me while I’m dreaming about you, like my dream’s come true.”

“You’ve such a wicked mouth,” Derek growls, moments before capturing it for himself. He drowns himself in the kiss, in the overwhelming scent and feeling of _Stiles._ “But I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

For how quickly it started, their lovemaking takes a slow, languid turn at that moment, both of them riding out their pleasure on slow waves, unhurried movements. Stiles is in the middle of a slow roll of his hips, the kind that leaves Derek breathless, when, his eyes on Derek’s, he stops, coming between them and squeezing down on Derek’s knot. And just like that, Derek’s tipped over the edge while Stiles kisses him with the sweetest softness.

Stiles collapses on him, his face buried in Derek’s neck as Derek sweeps a hand over the cooling skin of his back. Derek likes to feel over the knobs of Stiles’ spine, count them one-by-one as he makes his way up and down. This is, perhaps, his favorite position to be in, a lapful of content, boneless, orgasm-sated Stiles to keep him warm.

That languid contentment carries over to their preparations for the day. They can’t spend more than a few seconds apart, it seems, and they’re in the middle of another kiss when there’s a knock on the door.

Though the room still smells of sex, they’re both decently clothed, so Stiles calls in a bright, chipper, “I just got fucked” voice, “Come in!”

It’s Scott who pokes his head in, wrinkling his nose but giving them both a nod of respect. “My lords, a single rider approaches. The king’s colors.”

“The messenger,” Stiles breaths, his scent going sour from nerves.

Derek hugs him from behind, attempting to quite that anxiety with his warmth. “We will face this,” he whispers for Stiles’ ears only. “We will face this, and we will win.”

Stiles nods, though his smell still betrays him. “Refresh them in the main hall, Scott. We’ll be there right away.”


	18. Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We begin to tie up some loose ends. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hasn't been edited thoroughly, so apologies for big or multiple typos. I didn't think I'd get something out today, and it's probably not great, so I'll possibly be editing for clarity later too.

When Derek first mated Stiles, they’d made some changes to the main hall. No longer is there an Alpha Lord seat above all others. Instead, Derek prefers to do his business - making decisions on conflicts from the town, hearing complaints and suggestions, all the tasks an Alpha Lord must take on - with Stiles by his side, in equally-sized chairs at the center of the head table. No dais, no elevation, just his mate at his side, helping him make those decisions.

This is how they greet the messenger, a united front, Stiles looking confident by his side, not a single whiff of his fear escaping him. His back is straight. The only detail that might give him away is the fact that his hand is firmly tucked in Derek’s.

Derek couldn’t be prouder of his mate.

He nods at the messenger. “You’ve been well taken care of, I hope? Can we get you anything else?”

The messenger shakes her head. “No, thank you, my lords. Your kindness has been well received.”

The pleasantries over, she passes a message across the table, the wax imprinted with the king’s seal. Then, she sits back, expectant. “I’ve been told to wait for a reply, my Lords.”

Derek nods, taking the message from the table and breaking the seal. He holds it so that both he and Stiles can read the king’s message at the same time. He stops breathing, his anger burning through him, and then Stiles’ scent turns overpoweringly sour in fear and anxiety. It’s a scent Derek hasn’t smelled as much recently, thanks to Lydia’s special tea. All Derek wants to do is take his mate far, far away.

To his credit, though, Stiles’ voice, when he speaks, is clear and in control. “There’s to be a trial? That’s supremely … _cruel._ You know Kate will manipulate the king into…” He can’t seem to even finish his sentence before crushing the message in his hand.

The king plans on giving each family a fair voice. It's beyond insulting that Derek and Stiles will be expected to meet her as equals, in Derek's mind anyway.

The messenger nods. “The king thought you might be...apprehensive. I’ve been advised to tell you that this decision will affect, um, _all_ Hale and Argent lands. The king believes this feud needs to be squashed once and for all.”

 _All_ means, of course, his entire family’s birthright is at stake. “And if we don’t comply…”

“The king will assume you have forfeited your family’s right to trial, and award all Hale lands to the Argents.”

The message, still crumpled in Stiles’ hand, starts to smoke, but he quickly tosses it in the fire anyway. Hopefully before the messenger notices anything out of the ordinary.

“Isaac, writing tools, please?” Derek asks quietly, his hand squeezing Stiles’. It’s still warm, but as usual, Stiles’ Spark seems to know and recognize his mate, bringing him no harm.

He scribbles out a few words once Isaac’s complied, and lets Stiles scan them over. “What say you, Stiles?” His voice is soft, as private as he can make it.

“You think the king will allow this demand?”

Derek shrugs. “I’m willing to take the bet, if you are.”

A wet warmth fills Stiles’ eyes. “Aye, yes, I’d prefer...this.”

Derek finishes the letter with his highest salutations, seals it, and hands it to the messenger. “Isaac will see to your bed and resupplying for the journey,” he says to her, properly dismissing her.

He rises, taking Stiles’ arm in his and walking them slowly out of the hall. Once they reach the corridor outside their bedroom, Stiles sags in relief. “You truly think the king won’t mind us not leaving until after the festival?” His anxiety scent is nearly overwhelming, again.

“It’s I who should be asking you if you truly don’t mind that I used your...possible...condition as an excuse to buy some time.” Derek’s hand presses against Stiles’s stomach, where he can just imagine a slight swelling.

“I suppose I can’t be mad that you made it sound way more definite than ‘possible.’ Not if it gives us just a little more normalcy.” Stiles’ hand comes to cover Derek’s. “I think so more and more every day, myself. Every day my heat doesn’t come.”

Stiles pulls him down for a long kiss. “This trial...it’s everything, Derek. It could mean- it could mean our pup will be safe for the rest of their days, or it could mean they’ll live a life of struggle. I can’t- when I think about it, it’s like I can’t quite catch my breath, I-”

Derek pulls him into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I know, sweetheart. I feel the same, like my breath has been taken away. We’ll protect them no matter what, I promise.”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Stiles mutters, then tsks at Derek’s raised eyebrow. “Not like that. Would that I had _any_ symptoms. That would make this whole thing easier, I think.”

“I love you,” Derek whispers, smiling. “I will protect you. And them.” He presses his hand to Stiles’ stomach again. “Until my dying breath.”

Stiles blinks away the tears in his eyes. “But hopefully it won’t come to that, aye?”

“Aye.” Derek brushes their lips together sweetly. “Can I do anything for you now? Order tea? Would you like to rest? Go for a walk?”

Stiles squeezes their hands together. “The last one, I think. A walk to the river and back?”

“I would love to.”

 

The festival is, by all accounts, a huge success. Derek gets into the spirit, declining the jousting tournament but working his way to the top of the bracket for sword combat. It helps that Stiles watches him from the stands, his eyes hot, his face lit up as if he couldn’t be happier.

And much later in the day, when they repeat their vows, without the blood and gore and heat and urgency of the last time, when he looks down at Stiles’ bright face, he can’t help but feel invincible, like anything the Argents try at this trial will be all for naught.

Their lovemaking that night is extremely slow and tender. Derek wants to make sure Stiles feels cherished, and in turn, Stiles wants to feel in control, and the combination means Derek lets Stiles fuck him with the wooden cock even as he knots Stiles. It helps that Stiles is flexible. It’s also the closest he’s felt to Stiles since they met, their eyes locked together as they ride to their orgasms.

Stiles’ nervous energy keeps him from sleep, and as such, keeps Derek from much sleep either, the night before they leave. Instead, Derek manages to capture Stiles on one of his nervous circuits of the room and pulls him into the bed, practically laying on top of him in order to quiet his nervous energy. He waits until Stiles relaxes below him, then kisses him. That keeps them occupied for awhile.

As such, Stiles is practically asleep on his horse as they set off the next morning, and Derek has to assign Scott to keep him from falling off and hurting himself. Because he’s using Scott to keep Stiles awake, the Lady Allison slips in beside him as they head out.

“What plans have you? How are you going to get the king to believe you over Kate? I know he doesn’t care for her, but still, he also prides himself an impartial judge.” Allison quizzes him as soon as the manor is out of sight.

Derek pulls the letter - the one Peter confiscated from the soldier several months ago, and one he’d never been able to fully decipher - from his tunic. “I’m hoping this will weigh heavily.”

Curious, Allison leans over to take it from him. “This- this is about Stiles, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what other great power she could be referencing, aye.”

“You’ve left bits undeciphered.”

“She used a secondary code on those parts, I believe. Concealing the name of her conspirator.”

“No, it’s just-” Allison scratches her face, then removes her riding glove and peers harder at the letter. She traces something out on her thigh, then stiffens. “It’s just, um. Peter.”

She hands the paper back, looking embarrassed. “If you need to know anything about having an awful family member or two, let me know.”

Derek sighs. “I knew already, or I suspected. I still have to believe there’s a good reason why he would warn Kate I was coming.”

Allison purses her lips, giving a short nod, and Derek can tell she doesn’t believe him. But she doesn’t press him further, just lets her horse fall behind to join Stiles and Scott.

When they stop for lunch, Stiles pulls Derek away, sitting on his lap and feeding him small bits of bread and cheese. He doesn’t press Derek about his discovery, but it’s obvious he knows. Derek nuzzles into his neck and lets his mate soothe him.

 

Four days later, mid-morning, they reach Nemeton, the largest town of the kingdom, and the home of the king’s main residence. The streets are crowded, but they part for the large party. Derek catches Stiles taking everything in with wide eyes; probably, it’s the most amount of people he’s seen in one area. He falls back to ride beside Stiles, giving him a running monologue of all he knows of Nemeton, having lived here for a few years.

They’re let into the king’s courtyard easily, without delay, but it’s not the new king that greets them once they’ve dismounted. Nay, it’s Peter Hale, his arms crossed over his chest, standing alone.

He smiles as Derek and Stiles approach, determined. He bows to them, then looks up, surprised. “Why, my Omega Stiles, I didn’t realize that congratulations were in order.”

Stiles glances over at Derek, then back at Peter. “What- how?”

“Your smell,” Peter says simply, like it’s obvious. “What, have you both gone nose-blind to it? He smells much stronger, much more Omega than he did those months ago. Congratulations, nephews.”

Stiles’ face has blanched, probably at the idea that they’re getting their confirmation from their enemy, of all people. He steps a little closer to Derek, and Derek reaches out for his hand. “We accept your congratulations, Uncle Peter. But I’m afraid I- I must ask, why?” He takes the letter from his pocket and thrusts it at him.

There’s a second in which Peter looks like he’s going to deny it, to ask what Derek’s asking about as they all stare at the folded letter. Then, he gives a significant look at Stiles. “Did you really want the most powerful Omega in a thousand years to be in the hands of the Argents?”

Stiles opens his mouth, then lets it close, dumbfounded.

“Murdering Kate wouldn’t have been justified, my nephew. So, instead, we weaken her soldiers, we weaken her power, we capture a key manor for the defense of the kingdom, and we rescue - and mate, though I certainly hadn’t planned for that - a powerful ally.”

“Why does that make sense?” Stiles whispers in Derek’s ear, even as Peter grins. “You’re insane. You had no way of knowing it would all work out like that.”

“Well, aye, Stiles, I was hoping to mate you myself, but your eyes were already only for Derek by the time I met you.” He looks down at Stiles’ stomach and shrugs. “It seems to have worked out for the Hales anyway.”

“How did you even _know_ of me?”

“Kate’s terrible at keeping secrets when she’s drunk.” Peter taps the letter, still in Derek’s hand. “If you’re planning on using that for evidence with the king, I’d rather you leave my name out of it.”

It certainly won’t help their case, a Hale helping an Argent. Derek’s mouth thins as he presses his lips together. There’s too much to process - the least of which is that apparently Stiles _is_ with pup. “When is the trial?” he finally manages.

“Now that you’ve arrived, the king wishes us all to dine with him tonight, Argents included. The trial takes place tomorrow at noon.”

Derek feels Stiles press into his side. “So soon. Not enough time to come up with a different strategy, Derek. Unless I-”

“No.”

“Testify-”

“No, you cannot think that’s a sound idea.”

“Who else? Who else can tell my story but me?”

“It could work,” Peter puts in, unhelpfully. “But, you know, stress isn’t good for the pup.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and sneers, “Fuck you, Peter.”

There’s a laugh near them, and Derek’s mother and Alpha, Talia, sweeps into view. She immediately moves in to hug Stiles. “Omega Stilinski, you are most welcome in the family indeed. You’ve already learned how to deal with Peter, after all.”

And with that, it’s a floodgate of Hales pouring in the courtyard, all waiting to meet Stiles - and offer congratulations on the pup. It takes many long minutes for Derek to convince anyone - it happens to be his Omega father, Jared - that Stiles should be shown to their rooms to rest after long days on the road. He fails to say, although he’s sure his father can tell, that it’s much more a rest for himself. The family can be...overwhelming, to say the least.

For once, it seems as if Stiles goes to rest willingly, meaning he must be as exhausted as Derek is. When they’re shut behind a locked door in the modest bedchamber they’ve been granted in the king’s castle. It’s Stiles himself who latches the door and turns around to face Derek, who’s collapsed on the bed.

“How are you doing?” Stiles asks quietly, and Derek scrubs a hand over his face.

“It’s I who should be asking you,” Derek murmurs, pulling Stiles to the bed. He rests his hand on Stiles’ stomach. “Papa.”

Stiles laughs, letting his forehead rest on Derek’s. “A fair bit overwhelmed, and incredibly happy, and terribly anxious. And you, father?”

“Well put.” Derek gathers Stiles into his arms, his chin buried in Stiles’ hair.

“Let alone everything about your uncle.”

Derek makes a noise of disgust. “Don’t remind me.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know any reason why he would help Kate, if not to benefit the Hales. It...makes sense, sadly.”

Stiles’ hand comes down to his stomach. “We’re _not_ making Peter a godfather, Derek, promise me.”

“Aye, no, never.”

Stiles shakes, and it takes a minute for Derek to realize he’s laughing. “What?” Derek asks, laughing himself a little at the sound of his mate’s happiness.

“We’re going to be parents, Derek. It’s just- I’m just very happy about that.” He moves up to kiss Derek thoroughly, pushing him onto his back. “Do you really want to rest?”

Stiles is flushed above him, pink and ripe. “I could be persuaded to spend the time elsewise instead.”

Stiles grins in satisfaction.


	19. Rose Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner with the king, the Hales, and the Argents makes Stiles a nervous wreck.
> 
> CW: Stiles has an anxiety attack in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the suggestion from FiccinDylan for the smut for this chapter!

It takes about two heartbeats for Stiles to realize that the dinner is merely another form of trial. The king had the sense to invite others, so it’s not just the two feuding families facing off in the main hall of the castle. No, Argents and Hales are dispersed around the room tensely, broken up by much livelier guests who are just waiting to see some explosions. 

Stiles is feeling nauseated, and he’s fairly sure it’s from nerves, not from the pup. He surreptitiously lays a hand on his stomach as he seeks out Derek’s form in the crowd. Derek had been pulled away by his mother minutes ago, leaving Stiles behind with Peter, who had quickly also been pulled away another direction. 

And now Stiles is alone. Feeling slightly like a sheep in a room of wolves. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, finding the warmth of his Spark inside him. If anyone tries anything, they’ll find this sheep has bite, he thinks, his fingers balling into a fist. 

An arm slips around his waist, one that he can tell instantly is not Derek’s, and he automatically moves to throw the person over his shoulder. He manages to pull back at the last second, even as the owner of the arm gives him a toothy grin. 

It’s one of Derek’s sisters, but he doesn’t really remember - “Cora,” she breaks in, reminding him before he has to ask. 

“Right. Um. Hello,” Stiles offers, still feeling unsteady on his feet. Everything, every social interaction, every nod of the head and tipping of the glass and round of laughter, it all seems calculated to Stiles, it all has meaning in the grand scheme of this fight between families. The pressure of the moment is damn near suffocating him. 

“Would you take a stroll with me? The gardens are lovely this time of year, I’ve heard. And we’ve a chaperone to keep us company.” Cora nods back at the foot guard in Hale colors trailing behind her. 

She arches an eyebrow, wrapping her arm around his and pulling him away, making her intent clear. She’s rescuing him. 

“I’d love to.” 

They’re quiet as they pass through the crowd, but once Cora leads them to the connecting garden, she turns to him. “I hear congratulations are in order.” 

“Peter has a big mouth.” 

Cora laughs, a lovely, full-throated sound that rings with true joy, not the more practiced and fake laughter he’d heard in the main hall just moments before. “That Uncle Peter does. But in this case, I heard from my mother, who is damn near calling it from the mountaintops. She’s extremely excited, after the whole debacle with Laura.” 

“What happened with Laura?” Stiles asks, curious, as they turn into a small rose garden and continue to walk the path.

“With her handmaiden?” Cora looks at him expectantly. “The one that Kate attacked. The reason Derek went after her in the first place?” 

_ Derek had other reasons, _ Stiles thinks but doesn’t say. “Yes, I know of her.” 

“Turns out she was more than just Laura’s handmaiden,” Cora whispers, looking away. “It’s not exactly Alpha-approved, mating a servant. Mother was not pleased.” 

“Laura  _ mated _ the handmaiden?” 

“We should probably call her Julia. It is her name after all.” Cora’s lips raise in a sly smile. “But yes, Laura has mated with Julia, and plans on raising the pup with the Hale name. It’s all the court has been talking about since… but then you arrived, of course.” 

“I’m coming to understand that if I want the castle’s gossip, all I need do is seek you out, Cora.” 

Cora gives a delicate shrug. “I may be an Omega, but I have my uses.” 

Stiles frowns. “Omegas are...you’re more useful than you realize, Cora, and don’t let any Alpha or Beta tell you differently.” 

Cora laughs again, but this time it does sound fake. Or maybe just tired and unhappy. “We can’t all be you, Omega Stilinski.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Did you know that you’re the first Omega, ever, to testify before a king? I sneaked into the library to check, just to be sure.” 

Stiles’ brows draw together, thinking of how he and Derek, and his father before them, all heard testimonies from Omegas regularly on Stilinski manor matters. It has never occurred to him that the wider world would be different. “Oh?” he asks faintly. 

“It’s all we’ve been talking about for days.” Cora squeezes his arm, in what he thinks is supposed to be comfort. 

“We?” 

“The Omegas.” 

There is, thankfully, a stone bench nearby, and Stiles collapses onto it, leaning over, trying not to heave from nerves. “I’m going to fuck it all up, Cora, I’m going to fuck it all up- I can’t do this- I can’t-” He circles his arms around his stomach, trying to protect his pup, unable to stop his rapid breathing. 

Cora wraps him in a tight hug, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, Stiles, just breathe, okay? Just try and breathe…”

There’s something in her smell, that reminds him just enough of Derek that her words penetrate. A soothing warmth is emanating from her hands, spreading into his body wherever she touches. 

Months ago, he probably wouldn’t have noted the feeling; he would have just been comforted and gone on with his life. Now, though, with the world that Lydia has exposed for him, now he pauses, his mind slipping from the panic to the puzzle of Cora’s Spark. 

Looking up, seeing only worry, not any of the concentration he’s seen on Lydia’s face or felt on his own when they try to use their powers deliberately, Stiles realizes that Cora is unaware of what she just did. 

And how many Omegas are out there, with the powers to help society, who are being squandered and squashed by their stupid social system?

“I can,” he says, voice shaky. “I can, and will.” 

The smile Cora offers him is brilliant and confident, filling him up with a grim determination. 

_ No matter what happens tomorrow, this starts here. This starts with me, _ Stiles thinks, his hand making a fist again. What works at the Stilinski-Hale manor can work everywhere.

Stiles has felt purpose before. He felt it when he determined that he would kill Kate to avenge his father. He felt it when he stepped out of his cell for the first time in nine years. He feels it, every time he contemplates the fluttering little presence deep inside him. But now, that feeling of purpose burns brightly within him, guiding his path. 

He can’t - he won’t just be what the world wants him to be. He’ll be what the Omegas need him to be.

He just isn’t sure what Derek will have to say about that.

 

In the months he’s known him, Derek has never seen Stiles so passionate as he is now. Derek himself sits on the edge of the bed, watching his mate pace the length and breadth of the room, his hands flying, his cheeks flushed, his mouth moving faster than anything. Derek can do nothing but listen, and acknowledge, and fall even more deeply in love with him. 

“I can’t just go back and hide on my - our - lands, Derek. I won’t.” Stiles pauses in front of him, arms crossed over his body defensively. He arches a brow, finally inviting Derek’s input. “What say you?” 

Derek stands, reaching out and pulling a willing Stiles into the warmth of his body for a hug. “I’ll follow you ‘til the ends of the earth, you know that.” He feels Stiles relax minutely. “Fate chose you for me, and me for you, and brought us together. Who am I to go against such a power? And while I’m with you, until I breathe my last, your fights are my fights.” 

Stiles looks at him, and then, to Derek’s shock, immediately bursts into tears. He buries his face in Derek’s neck, and Derek rubs a hand over his back. “I’m sorry,” Stiles blubbers, rubbing his tear-ridden cheeks against Derek’s tunic. 

“You are so strong, Stiles. Never apologize for your tears.” 

“It’s probably just - just the pup, you know? I’ve read of that.” 

_ Or it could be the fact that your scent is such a confusing mix of panic and fear and righteous anger, it had to burst out somehow, in some way. _

Derek doesn’t say it, just hums in agreement and continues rubbing his mate’s back. 

“We should sleep,” he murmurs, and Stiles nods, his face still pressed against Derek’s. 

Quietly, keeping up his soft humming, Derek pulls his own tunic off and helps Stiles out of his dinner clothes. When he goes to slip Stiles’ nightwear over his head, though, Stiles stops him, grunting. A faint blush tinges his cheeks, but he picks out Derek’s tunic from their clothes pile and slips that over his head instead. “I can’t get enough of your scent,” he admits, then excuses with a monosyllabic, “Pup” and a shrug of his shoulders. 

Stiles looks tantalizing, his thighs and long legs bare beneath the hem of Derek’s tunic, absolutely smothered in Derek’s scent. Derek wraps him in his arms, letting his hands slip down to cup Stiles’ ass and pull them together. Their mouths slip together easily, like they’re sighing into it. 

Stiles soft little “Der-” is  _ everything _ for Derek. He lifts Stiles into his arms and walks them to the bed, unable to keep away from Stiles’ mouth for even a heartbeat. Arousal, his own and Stiles’ mixed, fills the air. He lays Stiles gently on the bed and unties his pants, letting them fall to the ground and leave him naked. The pure want in Stiles’ eyes makes Derek want to preen. 

Instead, he comes down over Stiles, pressing kisses to his lips, his cheeks, down his neck, under his ear, all as Stiles squirms beneath him, panting already. He continues to work his way down, lifting up the tunic so he can see Stiles’ belly. Reverent, he places a tender kiss just over Stiles’ belly button. He wants to believe he can hear the pup in there, but it’s too soon yet. Still, he feels a connection as he rests his forehead against Stiles’ soft skin, imagining what Stiles will look like, how Derek will feel, when the pup is big and strong inside him. Stiles’ fingers card through his hair, and when he looks up, Stiles’ face is soft and understanding. 

Reluctantly, Derek continues his travels south, kissing Stiles’ hipbone and making him squirm. Stiles’ legs slide open easily for him, and he happily presses lines of kisses up each inner thigh, made strong by months of work. 

By the time he reaches Stiles’ hole, it’s leaking slick, shiny in the small shaft of moonlight coming through the heavy curtain holding out the night air. Derek feels himself growl at the sight before he moves in, burying himself between Stiles’ legs, letting his tongue thrust tentatively around Stiles’ rim. 

Stiles, as ever, can’t be quiet, and the soft sounds of pleasure floating down to Derek’s ears are the sweetest things he’s ever heard. He continues to work Stiles open with his tongue, letting Stiles arch into the sweet pressure however he wants. He could die happy on the sweet taste of Stiles’ slick. 

He brings Stiles to peak once just like that, his tongue working Stiles’ hole relentlessly. As he lets Stiles recover from his climax - Stiles fingers are clenching and unclenching involuntarily into the bed covers - Derek rests his head on Stiles’ thigh and contemplates Stiles’ cock. It’s small, of course, as an Omega, but valiantly leaking precum just as much as his hole is still making slick. 

Sighing, happy, Derek moves up, letting the whole cock slip into his mouth. It makes Stiles jolt against him, crying out, and Derek pauses, looking up at Stiles to make sure he still wants to go on. 

Stiles meets his eyes, and groans at the sight of Derek’s lips enveloping his cock. He thrusts his fingers into Derek’s hair. “Keep going, Der, please-” 

Derek settles into it, then, letting his eyes slip closed as he works over Stiles’ cock again and again. He lets Stiles fuck his mouth, Stiles’ hips stuttering and thrusting beneath him. Even working together, they can’t seem to find the edge for Stiles, until Derek thrusts three fingers inside Stiles’ stretched hole and begins pumping hard. He works until he finds Stiles’ prostate, then winces when Stiles promptly bucks, nearly knocking them both off the bed. 

“Shit- sorry- Oh god, Derek-” 

It takes three more thrusts before Stiles is coming again, spilling into his mouth and soaking his fingers. 

Stiles relaxes into the bed, panting. “Get up here, I need to kiss your face off,” he mumbles, tugging on Derek’s hair. 

Derek’s happy to follow the order, sliding back up Stiles’ body and settling over him. True to his word, Stiles pulls him down and kisses him thoroughly, surely tasting himself all over Derek’s tongue. 

His clever hands begin to make their way down Derek’s body, finding his aching, leaking cock and wrapping around it. Derek grunts against Stiles’ lips and begins to thrust into Stiles’ hand. 

“C’mon, Alpha. Come all over me.” 

At Stiles dirty words, Derek can’t help but comply, groaning as he spills over Stiles’ stomach. Stiles looks immensely pleased with himself, and Derek can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t be. 

Idly, Stiles drags his fingers through Derek’s cum, bringing it up to taste with a hum, then sliding it around his belly, working it into his skin. Kissing him, Derek helps. Tomorrow, at the trial, his scent will cover Stiles, and there will be no doubt as to whom Stiles is mated.

Derek is just drifting off in Stiles’ arms when Stiles breath whispers against the skin of his cheek. “Why do you think Omegas were given powers?”

Leaning back to see his face, Derek sees only a vague curiosity. Given what Stiles was talking about earlier, though, Derek believes it goes much deeper. He trails his hand down until it rests over the pup again. “You’re the ones who bring forth the next generation, aye? You must be the most powerful of us, to protect them.” 

Stiles smiles at him, and Derek’s left feeling distinctly like he just passed some sort of test. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we've got the trial, and then some type of epilogue probably. I tend to write a lot of post epilogue things, though, so while it may be marked complete after chapter 20, stay subscribed (if you want) for Stiles and Derek and Pup adventures. :D


	20. Throne Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king's trial commences - will Stiles find a way to convince everyone of Kate's misdeeds?

Stiles’ palms are sweating, but he resists rubbing them against his formal skirts and ruining the fabric. He hates the formal dress he must wear for the trial except for one reason: the high waist of the skirts accentuate the slight - very slight - roundness of his stomach. Derek had noticed this right away, of course, but they hadn’t the time to do anything about the heated look in Derek’s eyes.

Sensing his distress, Derek’s hand enfolds his, their fingers sliding together. Derek’s palm is slightly sweaty too, which somehow calms Stiles just a little. At least he’s not in this alone. He slides a glance up to his mate. Never alone, never again. Smiling just a little, Stiles pulls their hands up and presses a kiss to Derek’s knuckles.

Derek lets out a huff of breath, his emotion unidentifiable to Stiles until he cups Stiles’ face and pulls him in for a brief kiss.

Someone clears their throat, and Stiles jumps back, cheeks flushing. It’s Derek’s mother, Talia, her eyes roving over Stiles’ outfit approvingly.

“None of that in front of the king,” she says, fussing with Derek’s collar, her hands fluttering everywhere. “And Stiles, no talking unless he specifically addresses you. Your presence is unprecedented, but that doesn’t mean you’ve license to act as an Alpha in there.”

Stiles nods, squeezing Derek’s hand more tightly. Derek’s lips whisper over his ear. “Don’t forget to breathe, sweetheart.”

Stiles nods again, all the more anxious, but attempts to slow his rapidly beating heart with a slow, measured breath.

And then they’re sweeping into the throne room, and Stiles’ breath is caught in his throat.

He didn’t get a chance to meet the king last night, but even so, it’s nothing like the image the king makes on his throne, sitting in his full regalia. Beside him, the queen sits on her own throne, smaller of course, and set slightly back, as is the place of the Omega, or so common thought goes anyway. The king himself seems passive, neither welcoming nor disinviting. Neutral.

Stiles supposes that’s all he can hope for.

He’s so distracted by the king that the scent hits him first. _Kate._ His entire body stiffens, going into panic mode. He feels as if he were to close his eyes, upon opening them again he’d be back there, in the cell, wasting away.

From the way the guards nearby wrinkle their noses, he must be giving off the full scent of a distressed Omega. Derek simply urges him forward, however, and Stiles knows he’s right: if he leaves now, this will never be over. Before they move past Kate and the others of the Argent clan, though, Derek moves to shield Stiles from their eyes. Stiles can’t say he’s sorry for it.

Derek leads him to the front of the room, to sit on the Hale side in the front row. From here, with Derek beside him, and his creepy uncle sitting at the end of the aisle, he can only see the king and queen in front of them. Before sitting, he genuflects deeply with the other Hales, only rising when the kings bids them to do so.

It’s not entirely proper, showing affection in court like this, but Stiles can’t help when his hand slips into Derek’s even as the king begins to speak.

“The feud between the Hales and the Argents has gone on for so long, I’m not sure anyone alive remembers what started it,” the king reflects, his voice deep and carrying through the large stone chamber. “Certainly, I inherited this little problem from my predecessor. As such, I was curious, and so was my wife, who went digging through the royal archives.”

There are murmurings, mostly on the Argent side, but a few from some of the older Hales, about the propriety of an Omega being given such an important task. Stiles sits up a little straighter, his eyes going directly to the queen’s face as she smiles at her mate, and begins to give an accounting of the Argent-Hale feud that goes back hundreds of years.

There’s something comforting, even soothing about her voice, and though he loses track of her story, his attention from her face never wavers. She’s pretty, he thinks, her brown hair pulled back up with a jeweled clasp, her eyes warm and friendly. She’s certainly less intimidating than the king.

He realizes, with a start, that this could be a manifestation of her Omega powers. Certainly an Omega who can compel people to listen to her would be a powerful mate for a king, indeed.

Stiles supposes he isn’t very objective, but her recitation makes it seem like there are many more transgressions on the part of the Argents than the Hales. Then again, the Argents had had the previous line of kings wrapped around their fingers. This new king is fresh, neutral blood. If Stiles can be convincing enough…

“Thank you, my dear,” the king murmurs, reaching out to squeeze the queen’s hand in appreciation. She smiles, a pretty blush gracing her cheeks as she nods back at him, and settles more firmly back in her chair, her part apparently finished.

“The most recent accusations,” the king continues, “involve the youngest generations and a new family being added to the mix, the Stilinskis.” His eyes come to rest directly on Stiles. “Omega Stilinski, if you could please stand and give your family’s history.”

His palms immediately break out into a sweat - they’d calmed somewhat while the queen spoke - but he quickly does as the king bids, pushing himself to his feet. There are more murmurings as he stands, and Stiles catches a few of them - the surprise of seeing a pupped Omega in public. Stiffening his spine, Stiles recites his family line exactly how Melissa taught him to say it.

When he gets to the present day, and his voice breaks over his father’s death, the king holds up a hand, pausing him. “And this is where you come in, yes, Alpha Kate Argent?”

Kate stands, no longer blocked from Stiles’ view now that they’re the only two standing in the room. They’re of a height - something he never noticed in the cell. He only remembers being shorter than her. Being a kid.

“Aye, your highness, your predecessor ceded the Stilinski lands to my care after the honorable Alpha Stilinski’s death.”

Hearing his father’s name on Kate’s lips make Stiles tremble - this time with suppressed fury.

“I was assigned to the Stilinski lands. As you know, should the Vancs invade, they’ll likely go through Attle Pass, and cross Stilinski territory. It made strategic sense for the kingdom for the lands to be placed in Argent hands.”

Seeing Kate work her charm never fails to make Stiles queasy.

“Yes, I understand the strategic importance of the Stilinski lands,” the king says, admonishing Kate’s arrogance. “Continue.”

Not the least bit deterred, Kate does as the king asks. “I have done my best with those lands, your highness. It was difficult, what with the resistance that the Omega Stilinski put up. It’s so hard for children to understand, you see. He couldn’t understand that I’d replaced his father-”

“You will _never_ replace my father.” Stiles’ words bite out, unbidden, echoing in the silence of the hall.

Another Argent shoots up. “You’ll keep your mouth shut unless asked, Omega.”

Derek springs to his feet, placing himself bodily between Stiles and the newly standing Alpha Argent. “No one gets to speak to Stiles that way, _Gerard.”_ The way he says the name, it’s like Gerard Argent is the lowliest filth stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

The king clears his throat before Gerard can retort. “You’ve something to add, Alpha Argent?”

Seeming to remember himself, Gerard straightens, letting the anger fall from his face. “Your highness, my daughter is trying to protect the Stilinski child.” Stiles bristles at repeatedly being called child, but says nothing. “She doesn’t want to see such a young life...ruined.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Omega Stilinski tried to murder Kate, your highness. He’s touched in the head, obviously, driven to madness by grief for his parents. Kate spared his life, because she couldn’t bear to spill his blood. Yes, he was imprisoned, but it was for his own good and for the good of the Stilinski manor community.” Gerard’s eyes scan down Stiles’ body until they land on his stomach. “I’m afraid what will happen if we let this obviously bad blood breed.”

At the insult to himself and his child, Stiles clenches his fist. His Spark wants to leap readily to his hand, but he won’t let it; he has more control than that after all.

“I’ve statements from guards and villagers at the time to back my father’s claim up, your highness.” Kate pulls several folded parchments from her bag, and a guard delivers them to the king. “As you can see, the Omega Stilinski forfeited any claim to his father’s land by attacking the royally appointed guardian of it. Thus, when the Alpha Derek Hale mated with the Omega Stilinski, he gained nothing - except, of course, a spouse. And a blessed marriage may they have.” Kate’s smile is disgusting, and Stiles swallows quickly to stop the bile from rising up his throat.

The king gives a nod, then leans down to listen to whatever the queen whispers in his ear. He nods again. “Alpha Derek Hale, in what state did you find the Stilinski lands?”

Derek straightens, though his hand is still held fast in Stiles’. “I found them woefully unprepared for a Vanc attack. I can’t imagine our luck, your majesty, that the Vancs tried nothing in the years the Argents were looking over the land. Once I arrived, I started training the local troops, and I went about plugging up no less than seven different smuggling dens up near the pass. It’s well guarded now, your highness.”

Stiles looks over at Derek, surprised. He’d never mentioned anything about cleaning out any smuggling dens. Then again, there had been the long periods Boyd had been away from the manor. Stiles had assumed he was running messages or something similar.

“And how did you find the Omega Stilinski?”

Derek’s fingers tighten in Stiles’. “He was so weak he could barely walk, your highness.”

“With my mate’s help, I’ve gained strength,” Stiles confirms. “I can tell you more about my imprisonment if you like.”

The king glances back at the queen, who gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

“I’ve had a hard time figuring out what I should say. I don’t think it’s possible to explain. I spent...over three thousand days in that cell, your majesty. I can’t- I lose my breath thinking about that, thinking about being sent back. It’s an evil no one should have to bear. I was fed just enough for the herbs she gave me to suppress my heats and steal my memories to take hold. I was- I have no witness to this, only myself, but I was, I used to be...different.” Stiles laughs a little, before wiping a tear away from his cheek. “I used to have so much energy my father would send me out to the sheep pasture to run around with the sheepdogs. I used to bounce off the walls, he used to say, and drive everyone crazy, and laugh. I used to laugh, a lot.” _And now I don’t_ goes unsaid, but understood by all.

“He tried to _kill_ me, your majesty. How should I have dealt with him?” Kate reasons, breaking into the silence of the room.

There’s a lot of murmuring now, and Stiles has a hard time telling if it’s positive or negative.

“We seem to have come to an impasse in testimony, which means it’s my turn to deliberate.” The king’s quiet voice settles all the murmurs.

Everyone in the room rises as the king and queen rise. While the king heads toward a side door, however, the queen comes forward, bowing her head at Stiles. “Omega Stilinski, I was wondering if you might accompany me on a walk while my husband deliberates?” She looks over at Derek, who has already placed a protective hand on Stiles’ elbow. “Your own husband is welcome to join us.”

Swallowing over a suddenly dry throat, Stiles nods. He’s only slightly shaking as he takes the queen’s arm and they walk past the crowds - including an infuriated looking Kate - and out into the same gardens Stiles had been the night before.

“Normally I’d join my husband in his deliberations. He finds me a good sounding board,” the queen murmurs into the crisp mid-morning air. “But I told him I must exclude myself this time.”

“Oh?” Stiles tries not to feel disappointed; he’d felt such a positive energy coming from the queen, he had been sure she would pass that on to the king.

“You know, we mated almost twenty-five years ago. We’re going to have a celebration for the anniversary, and I do hope you’ll come.”

Stiles slides his hand over his stomach, then looks back at the castle. “I’ll do my best, your majesty.”

“I would like that very much.” Surprising Stiles, she reaches out, brushing over his cheek and looking into his eyes. “My father had a rough go of it, you see. A king himself, with only omegas for heirs. Still, he did his duty by us. Your king and I didn’t start as a love match, but we grew into it quickly enough. And my sister, she ended up mated to a foreigner, one she loved very much. It meant the end of the House of Gajos, but at least my father oversaw a peaceful transfer of power.”

Stiles hums, unsure of what sort of reaction she wants from him. He can feel Derek’s eyes on them as he follows a short distance behind.

“I miss my sister, still. But slightly less, seeing her eyes again.” She stops, continuing to hold Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles’ brain darts in a million different directions. “Si-sister?”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name is Katarzyna, and I’m your aunt.”

 _Katarzyna._ The name, etched on a gravestone back at the Stilinski manor flashes before Stiles’ eyes. When he refocuses on the queen, he can see it, traces of familiarity. He looks like a Gajos, apparently.

When the queen opens her arms, Stiles falls into them; he’s unable to stop himself, even though he knows his mouth is still agape and his heart is beating hard in his chest. The queen’s fingers slip through his hair, then down his back, the comfort of a mother.

“I couldn’t be sure until I saw you that you were kin. When I heard of the troubles on Stilinski lands, I thought it mere coincidence. I’m sorry that we didn’t know about you sooner.”

At the embrace, Derek had stridden up to them, frowning, a look of confusion on his face. Once he’s within reaching distant, Stiles holds out his hand and pulls him into the hug, too. “I, um, I don’t know what I should call you,” he confesses to the queen.

“Kata is fine, I think, if I may call you Mieczyslaw.” The queen laughs when Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Stiles, then.”

Stiles gives a small nod. “Derek, this is Kata, my- my aunt, and Kata, this is my fated mate, Derek Hale.”

Kata raises an eyebrow in a move that rivals Derek’s own eyebrow raise. “There were rumors you two were fated, but one hears that sort of fanciful talk everywhere.”

“I don’t under-” Derek starts, his arm slipping around Stiles’ waist, frowning.

He’s cut off by Kate’s growl. _“Aunt?! Aunt?_ Is this entire thing a farce? How _dare_ you keep this information from the Argents.” She reaches out, grabbing Stiles by the arm and yanking him, hard, from his family. “I always said you were more trouble than you were worth, but that’s not true, is it, Stiles? Worth quite a lot now.” Moving quickly, she draws a knife, holding it to his throat as she immobilizes his arms.

“She’s _insane-”_ the queen says on a gasp.

“We’ve been trying to tell you that,” Derek replies, holding up his hands to placate Kate. “There’s bad blood in the Argents, it seems. Kate, you don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, that’s very much where you’re wrong. I’ve been waiting a long time to slit this beautiful throat.” Kate’s thumb presses down on Stiles’ mating scar.

Stiles can’t get his brain to calm. Her scent - it feels like her scent has completely immobilized him, and everything they’ve trained for has left his head. He can feel the prick of the knife against his throat, can feel a drop of his blood well up there. The thought of it, the thought of slowly bleeding out as the two hearts inside him pump their last, has him dizzy with nausea.

More people have arrived on the scene, more people who are as completely helpless as Derek is. More people to gawk while Kate cuts the life from him. The king is here, now, and the rest of the Hales and Argents, though it looks as though guards are holding Talia and Gerard from physically assaulting each other.

“I’m not insane,” Kate sneers at the queen. “I’m the only one here willing to take action anymore. All we do is sit and talk and _deliberate._ What good comes of it?”

“The more we talk, the more innocents don’t die,” the queen murmurs, and her voice is, once again, extremely compelling. It certainly makes Stiles’ heart stop jackrabbiting, just a little.

“Stop it!” Kate screams, taking her dagger and pointing it at the queen instead. “Stop your Omega magic, you bitch-”

It’s like Stiles sees the motion in quarter-speed. He sees the dagger release from Kate’s hand, aimed with deadly intent and speed at the queen. He blinks, he thinks, and then an arc of lightning is traveling down Kate’s arm, passed on from Stiles. The lightning arcs out of Kate’s fingers, along the path that the dagger is making, knocking the dagger from it’s journey. Kate screams, the smell of burning flesh hot in the air. Stiles forces himself to look down, and indeed, the flesh of Kate’s arm, the path the lightning took, is burned beyond recognition. She pushes him away, falling to the ground even as she holds her arm to herself and moans.

 

“A miracle, lightning sent down from on high to save the queen.”

Stiles is sitting quietly, cradled in Derek’s lap - Derek hasn’t let him go since Kate shoved him away, over an hour ago - but the comment, whispered from one servant to another just outside where he and Derek are ensconced in a chair behind a tapestry-hidden alcove, makes him laugh. “Really? A miracle?”

“I’ve often found my Omega’s powers to be a highly religious experience.”

Stiles and Derek look up at the voice of the king, and Stiles starts to scramble off Derek’s lap to give a proper greeting.

“Please, don’t. I’m sure you’re tired. Kata’s powers always make her so as well.” Instead, the king sits in another chair beside them. “I’ll leave you to your quiet recovery time, but I wanted you to know, Omega Stilinski, that Kate confessed to killing your father. And the assault on your sister’s mate, Alpha Hale.”

Stiles knows there are many, many more crimes Kate should answer for. He reaches up, cupping Derek’s cheek, resting their foreheads together. “It’s over.”

“Indeed.” The king sighs, pushing himself up. “As for the Hales and the Argents, I’m keeping all lands where they presently are. Including, Lord Hale, the Stilinski lands in your capable hands. Just because the Vancs are quiet now does not mean they’re not plotting something for the future. I feel more secure with you at the border.”

Derek gives a short nod, his face stoic, but Stiles can tell the high praise landed on its target well.

“May I be familiar with you, Omega Stilinski?”

Stiles gives a nod. “Everyone calls me Stiles, if that please you, your highness.”

“Stiles, knowing my wife, now that we’ve made the connection, I doubt she’ll want to go three months without a visit from you - or us visiting the north, touring the country, keeping everyone on their toes.”

“We’d love to have you. Anytime.”

“She’ll especially want to visit after the pup arrives. She loves babes, you know.” With squeezes to their shoulders, the king swings back through the tapestry.

“It’s over,” Stiles repeats, sagging into Derek’s body.

Derek’s lips brush against his skin, and his hand comes to rest on Stiles’ belly. “It’s just begun,” he whispers, before he slides their lips together in a sweet, warm kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deus ex Katarzyna. 
> 
> That's it, folks! I'll probably add some epilogue chapters because who doesn't love mpreg Sterek smut? 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it. I know there are some plot holes, and I'll probably go back at some point and reread and try to make more cohesion throughout, but this is what happens when you fly by the seat of your pants with absolutely no plan for 45k+ words, so I appreciate every kudos and comment along the way. Thank you so much!


	21. Epilogue 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is briefly - or not so briefly - distracted by Stiles' body.

Derek pushes into the room quietly, expecting Stiles to be asleep. He’s been doing much more of that recently, of course, but it never fails to tickle Derek. To see his whirlwind of an Omega get hit by sudden sleepiness. He’s fallen asleep watching Derek train, at the dinner table while the others talk lands and business, even once on his horse, mid-sentence while talking to Derek, who luckily had been able to pluck him off his horse and sweep Stiles up against his chest on his own mount.

But nay, Stiles isn’t sleeping, but looking out the window onto the Hale grounds. They’re taking the long way back to the Stilinski manor, stopping for a long visit at Derek’s ancestral home on their way back. The view from their guest bedchamber overlooks the lake, one of the prettiest views in the castle.

Stiles’ skin seems to glow in the sunlight that’s filtering in, and his body is silhouetted, his hand resting on his round stomach. It hits Derek just how big Stiles has gotten, and he’s momentarily struck speechless.

Stiles hears his small intake of breath and turns, a wonderful smile lighting up his face. “How was the village?”

“Boring, without you,” Derek finally answers as he crosses to the window. He steps behind Stiles, placing a kiss under his ear as his hands sweep over Stiles’ belly. “You’re big.”

Stiles turns back, a disgruntled look on his face. “What?!”

Derek flushes, hurrying to explain. “I mean. Just. I didn’t realize how, um… how our child has grown.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You couldn’t possibly think of a better way to say that than to tell the Omega of your child he’s ‘big’?”

“I- um.”

Derek’s squirming for a few beats longer before Stiles breaks, smiling. “I know, aye?” His hands sweep over his stomach. “I realized it myself this morning. We’ve a big pup coming, I’m sure.”

Derek gives a soft little snort, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. “I’m sorry for my brusque words, I wasn’t thinking about how it would sound, because, to be honest, my mate, I was thinking about how breathtaking you look.”

“Mmm, that’s better. Tell me more.”

Derek laughs full out this time, leaning in to nip at Stiles’ mouth. “You’re radiant. You glow. You look as if you were meant for this.” He leans forward, letting Stiles feel how his cock has hardened. “I want you, always, but now...now that you’re carrying my pup, it’s like a damn compulsion.”

“Truly?” Stiles turns in his arms, wrapping himself in Derek and pulling him in for a deep kiss. “Maybe you should show me.”

He can smell Stiles’ slick, even beneath the layers of his clothing. “I would gladly do so.”

It takes nothing to sweep Stiles up in his arms and carry him to the bed, but the look of surprise and pleasure on Stiles’ face is everything Derek needs. Stiles leans up, his fingers slipping into Derek’s hair as he pulls him in for a kiss; Derek gives into the kiss even as he lays Stiles down on the bed. His fingers fly down to the hem of Stiles’ tunic, pushing it up, over that beautifully rounded stomach, over his chest, up off of his head.

He presses kisses to that belly, wishes he could feel the pup stirring inside, but they’re likely asleep at the moment. A fierce love and protectiveness swamps him, and he looks up at Stiles, who surprises him with tears in his eyes.

“You’re going to be the best father,” Stiles whispers, his hand reaching down to brush back Derek’s bangs.

Derek turns his head, kissing Stiles’ palm. “What if we share the title, instead?”

Stiles’ teary grin is all he needs in life, he’s fairly sure.

He’s drawn further down by the sweet cinnamon-honey scent of Stiles’ slick, and he makes haste untying Stiles’ pants and drawing them off his legs. He can’t help but skip right to Stiles’ leaking hole. He runs his tongue around the rim, collecting slick and feeling Stiles’ thighs quiver under his hands.

“Der, Der, Der-” Stiles’ little moans are breathless, and his hips shift restlessly against Derek’s face as he tries to bring Derek more into him.

Derek obliges, pressing fingers in beside his tongue and searching for that special spot inside Stiles that will make him quake. Stiles’ hole clenches around him when he finds it, attempting to draw Derek in, greedy.

The rest of Stiles is no less greedy. “Derek, get in me,” he groans, his voice just a touch whiny. It makes Derek smile against his hole, but ignore his request, continuing to torture him with his tongue and fingers.

It’s not until he’s brought Stiles to one peak that he relents momentarily, moving back and fumbling with the ties on his pants. Stiles’ eyes are closed, his hole still clenching around air as his orgasm pulses through him. Groaning, Derek finally gets his cock out and then he’s there, pressing into Stiles, feeling the warmth of Stiles’ hole envelop him. Stiles’ stomach isn’t big enough to stop this position, but Derek has to push himself up as his thrusts.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Stiles chants, his legs coming up to wrap around Derek’s, his hands meeting Derek’s hands on the mattress.

“I love _you.”_ Derek meets Stiles halfway for a passionate kiss that leaves them both breathless.

He reaches down to pull on Stiles’ cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts until Stiles is quaking in his arms, the orgasm making his muscles flutter all over Derek’s cock.

With a groan, Derek wraps a hand around his growing knot before he can tie Stiles in what would be an uncomfortable position for the both of them. Stiles looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, looking perfectly satisfied, dewy with sweat and glowing from his Spark.

“Mark me, Alpha.” Stiles knows exactly what he’s doing with the command, Derek can tell, because of the way his mouth quirks up.

But it doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all, really. Pulling out, he jacks himself, the path made easy by Stiles’ slick. With Stiles’ eyes encouraging him, he comes all over Stiles’ belly, the white stripes feeding that fierce feeling of love and protection in him.

Panting, he kneels back, watching as Stiles swipes a hand through the cum and lazily spreads it over his belly. Groaning, Derek joins him, working it into Stiles’ skin until there can be absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind who pupped the Omega Stilinski.

Deed done, Derek collapses to Stiles’ side, laughing a little at himself and his state of half-dress. Stiles fingers have left his skin and are now sweeping through Derek’s hair, and he’s smiling up at him sweetly.

In a moment, he gets a curious look on his face. “Did you need me for something? Were you looking for me, earlier?”

Derek stiffens, realizing exactly what he’d forgotten when he’d been so taken with his Omega. “It’s supper time. I was supposed to collect you for supper.”

Stiles looks up at him for two beats, incredulous, before apparently deciding Derek is being serious. “Are you jesting?” He rolls to the side of the bed and stands up, trying to pull on every single article of clothing at once. “What will your mother think of me…”

Smiling, just a little, Derek repairs his own pants before crossing over to help Stiles. “She, and everyone else, will think we’re silly newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other. Don’t worry yourself, I’m sure they stopped waiting for us awhile ago.”

Instead of calming, Stiles seems to push himself even closer to the edge, pulling on stockings and shoes and running water through his hair in an attempt to tame it.

Derek stops his busy hands, holding them, then pulling them up to kiss both sets of knuckles. He takes a guess at the root of Stiles’ anxiety. “My mother respects you, Stiles. One late supper will not change her mind.”

Stiles relaxes visibly, and Derek sends a little prayer to Heaven in thanks. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Derek dips his head, pressing a sweet, short kiss to Stiles’ lips. “Shall we?”

Hand clasped tightly in his, Stiles nods and leads them out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will probably continue to do short epilogue updates on their life post-drama. :D
> 
> Thanks for all of the amazing comments and kudos! This fandom is truly something!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!


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